Illusion: The 99th Hunger Games
by x FallingAshes x
Summary: "It's not reality that shapes us, but how we see the world that shapes our reality." In an arena where you fall up and fly down, where paths are neverending and doors appear out of nowhere, how do you know what is real? When the dead walks among the living and ghosts drive tributes insane, nothing is quite as it seems... SYOT CLOSED
1. Introduction

**A/N: **Hello, and welcome to my SYOT! It is now closed. Although, feel free to follow along! I have some very, very interesting tributes, and the Games are sure to be good!

~Ashes

* * *

**The Games of Illlusion**

**Prologue**

* * *

_"Reality is merely an illusion, _

_albeit a very persistant one."_

**_ —Albert Einstein_**

* * *

President Kaye set the stack of papers down on her desk, her lips pursed. Her hot pink hair framed her childlike face. It was an unusual color for presidents. They usually stuck with black.

Sage Dillox cleared his throat, trying not to show just how nervous he really was. "Is there something wrong, President Kaye?"

She glanced up at him, her pale blue eyes seeming to pierce through his soul. She was the youngest president by far, barely fifteen. She would be participating in the reaping had she lived in the districts. Sage found it disconcerting that she could unsettle him so much.

"Oh, Sage," she sighed. Her voice sounded like a mother scolding a child, although Sage was thirteen years her senior. "I had higher expectations for you. How many forest arenas have there been?"

"I know, but—"

"Yes, yes," she interrupted him, irritated. "This one's a _rain_forest. Do I care? No."

"I'm sorry, President," the gamemaker hurriedly apologized. "I'll do something else right away, I promise. I won't let you down, it'll be amazing, spectacular, something to—"

"Don't worry, Dillox," she snapped. "I'm not going to fire you. I just need something...original. Especially after last year's Games."

Sage winced. The ninety-eighth Hunger Games were something nobody wanted to be reminded of. It had been Phaedra Kaye's first year as president, at the mere age of fourteen. She had allowed Cillion Blaze, the previous Gamemaker, to make all the decisions. When the Career group were all that had been left, Cillian had decided to send out a recently designed mutt. Unfortunately, it had been a little _too _bloodthirsty. It had robbed the audience of their dramatic final showdown, and left the Victor in a coma.

Cillian Blaze had disappeared after that. Sage was pretty sure he knew where he had gone.

President Kaye drummed her fingers lightly against her desk. "The ninety-eighth Games left me with a bad name. I need to show the citizens that I can indeed give them the spectacular show they wish for."

"I'm sure they have never doubted that for a second, President Kaye."

She looked at Sage flatly, and he closed his mouth.

"Besides," President Kaye mused. "ninety-nine is my favorite number."

Sage was surprised. "Ninety-nine? Why?"

President Kaye crumpled up the Games plans, startling Sage. He held back the temptation to go grab them from her. Those were his babies. They had taken weeks.

She tossed it at the trash chute across the room, and it bounced off the outer edge, landing on the marble floor.

"Because it's so close," she said softly. "but not quite."

The room was silent for a moment. Sage's palms started to get clammy, and he clenched them against his silk pants.

"So," he managed finally. "What did you have in mind for this year's arena then, President Kaye?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, almost like the teenager she should be. "I want something that has never been done before. A fantastic show. A Games that will make even the Victor regret setting foot in it."

Sage swallowed. "How will I manage that?"

President Kaye glanced at him, mildly annoyed. The truth was, she had already debated killing Sage Dillox many times, but it was getting awfully close to the Games, and Gamemakers didn't just grow on trees.

"I want heart-wrenching deaths." she twirled a strand of her hair. "I want drama. But most of all, I want _insanity. _That's always fun to watch. I want you to break them, Sage. Mess with their heads."

Sage paused. "So, you want me to alter their realities?"

"There's no such thing as reality, Dillox." she ran a finger across her desk. "Go. I need the plans by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Sage's eyes widened. "But that's—"

"They'd better be good," she interrupted. "or you'll be joining your dear friend Cillian."

Sage bit back his next words, nodding uneasily. "I won't disappoint you, President Kaye."

She watched him retreat, hiding his shaking hands in his pockets. Kaye didn't like him. Not one bit. No matter what plans he drew up, she wouldn't be changing her mind about the fate she had planned for him after the Games were over.

Phaedra Kaye stared out the window, at the citizens of the Capitol below. She allowed herself a small, cold smile. "Let the ninety-nineth Hunger Games begin."

* * *

**Tributes of the 99th Hunger Games**

* * *

**District 1**

**Male: **Bliss Rarity, 12 _(Call Me Fin)_

**Female: **Evanesca "Evan" Alten, 13 _(IceTigers)_

**District 2**

**Male: **Shade Granite, 18 _(Rachael torie b)_

**Female: **Rhea Kentwell, 18 _(BecauseOfKillianJones)_

**District 3**

**Male: **Flux Renshaw, 15 _(Atashi Desu)_

**Female: **Misa Hodgeton, 17 _(Buttons301)_

**District 4**

**Male: **Cetus Celaeno, 17 _(MaliceArchangela)_

**Female: **Cuvier Galeocerdo, 18 _(C1nd3r5)_

**District 5**

**Male: **Sho Yoshiri, 16 _(GoldenfeatherKyru)_

**Female: **Atere Narken, 12 _(bobothebear)_

**District 6**

**Male: **Kyren Quill, 18 _(TheTypeWriter001)_

**Female: **Andromada "Romie" Nightingale, 13 _(Coffee221bTARDISDemigodWonders)_

**District 7**

**Male: **Leif Spires, 16 _(ForeverYoung362)_

**Female: **McCallister "Cal" Dunnelow, 18 _(seventhquill907)_

**District 8**

**Male: **Nile Baize, 16 _(charlieal12)_

**Female: **Nathania Chambers, 15 _(Percabeth1300)_

**District 9**

**Male: **Emory Fields, 17 _(Elim9)_

**Female: **Ashlea "Lea" Lavione, 16 _(I-love-percabeth)_

**District 10**

**Male: **Colt Williams, 17 _(Ari Sen Mav and Far)_

**Female: **Adrian "Adri" Byes, 14 (_XxSilverEyedWolfxX)_

**District 11**

**Male: **Arion Starborn, 15 _(DragonFan1512)_

**Female: **Aima Theloun, 17 _(Funny-Bunny-lover)_

**District 12**

**Male: **Asa "Ace" Wester, 14 _(PSULucky)_

**Female: **Lynette "Nick" Nicklin, 17 _(talltales13)_


	2. Phaedra Kaye

**A/N: **Am I the only person who's just _so _happy that school's starting again(sarcasm. It just doesn't work the same when typed...) Anyway, so, this chapter is a peek at President Kaye's past(and also a bump :3), and at what on Earth goes on inside that head of hers. After you read this, I'm pretty sure you'll realize that she is absolutely insane.

Also, there are still a few spots left, so if you haven't submitted already, then go ahead, and let anybody who might be interested know!

**Question of the Chapter: **What are your thoughts on President Kaye so far?

~Ashes

* * *

**Phaedra Kaye**

* * *

_"Don't get too close,_

_it's dark inside._

_It's where my demons hide."_

**—Demons, Imagine Dragons**

* * *

When Phaedra Kaye stepped out onto the stage, her head held high and proud, the crowd was completely silent.

No applause. No cheering. No nothing.

She was a small girl, but she looked almost microscopic up on the huge stage, her pink hair pulled into a tight bun. The crowd couldn't see it, but she was twisting her fingers together behind her back, over and over again.

"Hello, citizens of Panem!" her voice carried surprisingly well. Cameras trained themselves eagerly on their president, wearing a crisp, white dress wrapped in colorful ribbon and a bright, cheerful smile.

It was the first time the citizens did not say hello to their president.

As Phaedra launched into the familiar Hunger Games speech, the smile on her face unwavering, the Capitol citizens watched, stiff, rigid, and silent. Phaedra did not add her own spin to the speech, nor did she change any part of it. Nobody said a word as she finished, even when she gave them a brilliant smile and a wave.

The citizens might be just pawns in the hands of their government, but they knew when they had been cheated.

And Phaedra Kaye had cheated them.

This wasn't about the ninety-eighth Games. No, they weren't thinking about that.

Phaedra Kaye did not belong as president.

* * *

"President Kaye, are you alright?" the peacekeeper asked anxiously.

"Of course," she snapped. "Why would I not be?"

"Well, the citizens—"

"They'll be fine after they get the show they want." she walked down the hallway to her office, her heels clicking on the floor.

"Yes, I'm sure they will," the peacekeeper agreed.

"I want to be alone for a little while. Don't let anybody inside."

"Yes, President Kaye."

Phaedra stepped into her office, letting the door shut behind her. The room was incredibly bland, not somewhere that a normal teenager would enjoy spending their days. The only decorative item was a black-and-white portrait of a kind-looking man with a moustach, hung up behind the desk.

She walked up to it, touching the picture gently. "The citizens hate me, father," she whispered. "I wish you were here."

"President Kaye?"

She must've jumped a foot in the air, then whipped around, her eyes flashing angrily. "I thought I told you to stay _out_."

The peacekeeper shrank back. "I-I'm sorry. A few peacekeepers on patrol caught a man from District Twelve hunting illegally in the forest. He insists on speaking to you. His name is Ettis Blyss."

Phaedra looked startled. "Ettis Blyss? From District Twelve?"

"Yes, President Kaye."

Her left hand clenched into a fist. "Send him in. Alone."

"As you wish, President Kaye."

The peacekeeper hurriedly exited Phaedra's office, calling Ettis into the room.

Ettis Blyss was a stern-looking man, regel and imposing, although the poverty of District twelve had taken a toll on him. His hair was graying, and wrinkles decorated his pale face. Although he was skinny and malnourished-looking, his pale blue eyes—the same color as Phaedra's—were intelligent and calculating.

"Long time no see, Phae," Ettis smiled.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she hissed. "I didn't spare your life so you could come back here and pretend like we're still so close."

"I'm a dead man already, aren't I?" he lifted up his wrists to show her his cuffs. "I thought I'd take a chance."

"What?" she narrowed her eyes. "You want me to bust you out?"

"Well, that would certainly be nice."

"No way in _hell._" Phaedra's gaze was cold. "I've already spared you one time too many."

Ettis raised an eyebrow. "Is that any way to treat family?"

"You're not my family. They're dead." her voice was flat. "I've already gave you a second identity, a new chance at life away from the Capitol's eyes. I've been way too kind to you, considering you're a filthy liar, _Uncle _Cillian."

Cillion Blaze shook his head, his eyes sad. "What happened to the sweet, innocent little girl you used to be, Phae?"

"She died, along with my family."

"Phae—"

"You promised," she said suddenly. Her voice trembled at the end, something that was very unlike the president. "You said that if I went along with you, faking my dad's declaration letter for a blind election, if I wrote all that fake stuff on my election sheet— you said that as long as I became president, you'd do the rest. You'd take care of me, make my dad proud."

"Your dad _is _proud of you, wherever he is," Cillian said gently. "You're continuing the Kayes' reign as president."

"Lies!" the word tore itself out of her, almost a screech. Phaedra's hand came down on the desk. "You ruined my reputation with the ninety-eighth games, Uncle. I trusted you. The citizens hate me. Why would my dad be proud?"

"They don't hate you for the Games," Cillion muttered, too low for the president to hear.

"If gamemakers could be president, you'd be the one sitting in this chair right now. You never cared about me or my dad at all! All you care about is leading Panem. I'm not that naive little girl anymore, Uncle!" There was a wild light in Phaedra's eyes. Strands of her hair had escaped out of her bun, and they were everywhere, effectively making her look crazy. " All of my real family, the people who _really _cared about me, they all burnt to death when the rebels set fire to this building. Why should you get to be alive, Cillian? I should have executed you like I was supposed to! I was too soft."

"No, listen—"

"Don't tell me to listen!" Phaedra was nearly screaming, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Cillian wondered if she'd lost it. "My dad, my mother, my brother, they're all dead, and nothing can bring them back!"

"You still have me, Pha—"

"_Shut up!_" the two words were a screech.

The next thing Phaedra was aware of was that there was a pencil sticking out of Cillion's throat. And she was holding that pencil.

Her uncle stared at her, his eyes wide in disbelief. He opened his mouth, almost as if to say something, but then he was toppling over and there was blood, so much blood. On the pencil, on Phaedra's hand, slowly creeping across the marble floor.

Phaedra stared at Cillion's body, convulsing on the floor. She felt nothing, nothing at all. There was coldness in her chest, icy claws wrapping themselves around her. Cold, merciless and cruel. Wasn't that what it took to be president?

Her dad had been kind. Kind and jolly and loving, with a laugh that easily boomed throughout a room. And where was he now? Dead. Burnt to ashes by the districts in the second rebellion.

Phaedra laughed, and even to herself, it sounded hysterical, insane. Her sanity didn't matter, anyway. The citizens of the Capitol didn't matter. They could hate her all they wanted to. They could kill her, if they wanted to. All that mattered was that she got her revenge on her family's murderers.

She could still feel the heat from that fire, sizzling away at her hair, red and orange flames licking up into the sky. She could hear the screams. They were so close. If only she could have gotten to them. The rebels from the districts laughed at her, pointing and jeering and tauting. Phaedra covered her ears, tears falling down her face, humming the lullaby that her mom used to sing to her at bedtime.

It wasn't enough to drown out the screaming.

They had destroyed her loved ones. They had destroyed her life.

_The districts._

She would break them and shatter them, just like they did to her.


	3. District One

**A/N: **Welcome to the first reaping! The reapings are basically just character introductions, and focusing on personalities and pasts. Developing relationships between characters will come later, during train rides, interviews, training, etc.

If you were wondering, yes, I am going to create a blog for this SYOT, and it should be up soon. The link will be posted next chapter.

Reviewing/answering the question of the chapter(even now, before the Games begin) will be very important to your tribute. It's the only way for me to know you're reading, and I'd much rather keep the tribute of someone who's reading alive than someone who's not. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

_A special thank-you to _IceTigers _for the D1 female and _Call Me Fin _for the D1 male._

**Question of the Chapter: **Who is your favorite tribute from District one?

~Ashes

* * *

**District One**

* * *

**Evanesca 'Evan' Alten, 13**

Evan frowned down at the chessboard. She was one move away from checkmate. All she had to do was move the Queen forwards a few squares, to trap the King between it and the Rook. Then she'd win.

But she'd also lose.

She let out a heavy sigh. The end of these chess games was always the hardest, since she didn't particularily enjoy losing to herself. Evan let her mind wander, and she found herself staring out the window, watching a bunch of kids below who looked like they were having fun, probably boasting about volunteering for this year's Games.

She should be out there with them, instead of sitting in her room, being grounded for something stupid like stealing their neighbor's necklace. She had been planning to give it back, anyway.

"Evanesca?" Her mother knocked on her door.

"Don't worry, mom," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not sneaking out the window again."

Her mother cracked open the door. "Oh, I know, honey. I was watching from the downstairs window. I'm just reminding you that we're leaving for the reaping in an hour."

"Yes, mom, I know." she moved her Queen in front of the King. Checkmate. "You don't have to come up here every five seconds. I'm thirteen, not five."

Her mother's forehead creased. "Sorry. I'm just wondering if you have your outfit picked out yet?"

"I do, actually." she gestured at the pretty red dress laid out at the foot of her bed.

"Oh no, Evanesca. You can't wear that! What about that beige dress I bought you?"

"Mom, that's too plain."

Her mother frowned. "Is it? I don't think so. What about your hair?"

Evan waved her off. "I'm going to put it into a bun."

"A bun?" Her mom shook her head. "No, I think you'd look better with a braid. Here, I'll go downstairs to get the comb so I can braid it for you. And where's those dark blue heels I got you?"

"Mom, no!" Evan sat up. "I'm putting my hair into a bun, and I'm wearing the black flats I picked out a few days ago. You know, the ones that you said were pretty. Can you just leave me alone?"

"Evanesca, I spent hours picking out those heels for you―"

"Exactly! Mom, I don't need you to control everything for me anymore, okay?" she pushed her chessboard aside, frustrated. "We've had this talk a million times. I can handle myself."

"I know, honey." Her mom smiled. "You're all grown up now, my baby, thirteen! But I really still think you should wear the beige dress with the blue heels. I'm going to go get them, okay?"

"Mom―" Evan started to protest, but her mother was already gone, the door not even shut behind her, like Evan was always insisting.

She kicked at her carpet angrily. Why did her parents insist on controlling everything in her life? What she wore, how she talked, who she was friends with. She was sick of it, sick of being looked at like a little kid.

Nobody seemed to think she was capable of anything, not even her trainers. She had brought up going into the Games several times, but they just kept telling her she was too young. Just thinking about them made Evan mad. She was better than a lot of the older kids, and she wasn't just bragging like some kids her age, she knew that for a fact.

Evan made her decision. She glanced at the clock beside her bed; it was perhaps a little too early to go to the reaping, but she didn't care. She wasn't waiting around for her mother to prep her into the perfect little doll.

She wiggled into her red dress, admiring herself in the mirror. It flared out at the waist into beautiful ruffles, bringing out her brown eyes and the freckles sprinkled across her nose. She smiled to herself. This was much prettier than the boring dress her mother wanted her to wear.

She pulled her long hair into a loose bun as quickly as she could manage. She hadn't bothered to brush it, as usual, so it took her a while to work out the tangles.

She glanced outside, at the lawn below, then pried open the bedroom window. It was loose, from the several times she'd snuck out to get away from her overbearing parents. She tossed her black flats down before climbing out the window and onto the tree in front of her house, the one with the extremely conveniently-placed branch.

"Evan!" A male voice from below startled her, almost making her lose her balance.

She looked down to see Dante, her best friend, grinning up at her. "You almost took off my head with your shoes there, Evan. If you want me dead, there's easier ways to do it."

She snorted. "You almost made me fall out of this tree! I think we're pretty even, Dante."

Evan climbed down the tree, jumping down to the ground and landing neatly in front of Dante. She gave him a wide smile, and he whistled.

"Wow, Evan, you're really getting good at that."

"Argh, blame it on my parents," she sighed. "They've grounded me. Again."

"Oh, really?" he raised an eyebrow. "What did you do this time?"

"I borrowed Amallie's necklace." Evan couldn't help but feel a twinge in the pit of her stomach. Back in the old days, Dante would have known this a long time ago.

It was times like this when she was reminded of how much her and Dante had fallen out of touch. They were still best friends, of course, but it was a friendship that had faded more than she would've liked during the year that she had spent training.

Dante laughed. "Well, that's the Evan I know. Anyway, are you headed to the reaping?"

"Yep. You?"

"I am too." he grinned at her. "We'll be early together."

Evan laughed. "Alright."

They fell into step together, chatting and laughing, easily falling into their familiar friendship. Evan smiled and nodded, although in her heart, she was already planning her goodbyes. She hadn't trained like crazy for nothing. She was strong, she was capable, she was a force to be reckoned with.

In truth, she knew she was being quite selfish. This wasn't for her family, not for her district, only for herself.

After she won the Games, nobody would belittle her anymore. Nobody would think that she was just a kid, and her parents would see that she had grown up. She would finally become someone important.

This was the year that Evanesca Alten would volunteer.

* * *

**Bliss Rarity, 12**

"Hey, Bliss!" A wide, bright smile spread across Carly's face as soon as she saw him.

"Hey, Carousel." Bliss closed the door behind him, Carly's mother giving him a nod and a smile. He walked over to Carly, sitting on the bed beside her.

Carly made a face. "Don't call me that."

"What?" Bliss asked innocently. "It is your name."

"You know I hate the name Carousel." Carly was smiling, even though her words were reprimending. This was their typical greeting.

Bliss laughed. "So, how are you today, Carly?"

"I'm great. I think I'm getting better, actually." she grinned. She was always happy when Bliss was there. "I'll be running around and volunteering for the Games in no time."

"Glad to hear it." Bliss was grinning back at her, but inside, this was not the case.

She looked worse- far worse. He had seen her just a day ago, how could she be so much worse? Her skin was pale and papery, and her face was hollow, her cheekbones sticking out. Bliss' heart ached for his best friend.

"You look nice today, with the silver suit and all," Carly said. Bliss smiled at her. He had taken more than the usual care getting ready today, gelling together the brown tips of his hair very precisely. His looks were something he took great pride in.

"Today's the reaping, right?" Carly moved to sit up, but suddenly broke into a fit of coughing.

"Carly?" Bliss was alarmed. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, her body raking with coughs, then gestured frantically at the box of tissues sitting on her nightstand. He grabbed one, quickly handing it to her, and she coughed into it a few times. She immediately crumpled it up, but not before Bliss saw that it was stained with red. Blood.

_Her _blood.

"I'm fine," she said hurriedly, tossing her crumpled-up tissue at the trash can across the room. It didn't even make it halfway. "Just a little bit of coughing now and then."

"Car―"

"I'm _fine,_" she interruped. She looked straight at Bliss, her hazel eyes intense. "Bliss Rarity, I know exactly what you're thinking. And I don't want you running off and volunteering for me."

"I won't," he muttered.

"No, you will. I know you, Bliss." she shook her head. "Don't do it. I'm fine. I don't care how good you are, how much you've trained, how much money your parents have spent on honing you to perfection. You're only twelve. You're going to get yourself killed."

"I'm not going to volunteer," Bliss said firmly, louder. A lie, and he knew it.

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes."

Carly smiled. "Good."

They talked for another few minutes, until Carly slowly drifted off to sleep, her eyelids fluttering shut and light snores rumbling from her chest. Somehow, without the smile on her face, she looked worse. She could easily have been a corpse.

Bliss hurried out of the house, shivering. It just wasn't fair. Carly was the kindest, most amazing peson he'd ever known. Why did she have to be the one to get lung cancer? And it wasn't even one of the easily curable kinds- it was rare. Carly was special. Just not in a good way.

There were so many families, so many people in District One that were rich, or even average, and they could have still afforded the treatment that Carly's family couldn't. Like Bliss. Why couldn't he have gotten the lung cancer instead? His family was rich. Filthy rich.

If it were up to him, he would pay for Carly's treatment, no problem. But it wasn't up to him. It was up to his parents, and anything up to his parents was hopeless. All they wanted was their perfect little Career, the victor that would bring glory and fame to their family. He had been training since he could walk, and that was all his parents ever wanted him doing. No fun. No friendships.

They didn't care about Carly. They didn't care at all, but Bliss did. And he couldn't let her die, no matter what he'd promised.

He could do it. Win, that was. He could win, and save her.

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Hello, citizens of District One!" the escort―a man named Silvio Graffice―waved to them all energetically, a smile splitting his dark violet lips. He was tall and lanky, wearing a suit in various shades of purple, matching his lips. He must really like the color. "And Happy Hunger Games!"

The crowd below the stage cheered, whooping and hollering. This was District One, and they were all excited for another year of the Games. They were what the Capitol loved- children eagerly throwing themselves to the slaughterhouse.

The mayor proceeded to read the past list of victors, which nobody paid attention to. The mentor, Bitxi Charming―who had won the eighty-eighth Hunger Games―made faces and mimicked dying of boredom as the mayor droned on, and everyone chuckled.

"Are you all excited?" Silvio boomed when the mayor had finally finished, spreading his arms wide, the gold and silver gemstones imprinted in his cheek glittering.

The roar was even louder this time, and Silvio looked pleased.

"The last Hunger Games before the Fourth Quarter Quell," Silvio announced in his thick Capitol accent, looking at the audience. "This will be a Games to remember!"

He walked to the glass bowl on the right, filled to the brim with slips of paper, rubbing his hands together. "Of course, ladies first. Now let's see...which lucky young woman will be going into the Games this year?"

Silvio waved his hands dramatically over the bowl, then stuck a hand into it, rummaging around for a while. The crowd was silent with anticipation as he finally pulled out a single slip.

Nobody dared to even breathe as he carefully unfolded the slip, clearing his throat.

"Charmine Tavera!"

A small twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair glanced up, her eyes wide. Nobody noticed, because the reapings were all a formality, anyway. The name picked was never the one who went into the Games.

"I volunteer!" the shout was loud, almost melting into the end of Charmine's name. There were several muttered curses. People weren't supposed to volunteer until the reaping winner had been introduced, but nobody really followed that rule, anyway.

The crowd spilt open, and a small girl walked out of the thirteen-year-old section, a half-smile on her face. The older girls were all glaring at her, but she didn't seem to notice. Her brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, and she had light freckles and big brown doe-eyes framed by long lashes. She looked innocent, far too young to be volunteering to be thrust into the Games.

"My, my!" Silvio smiled widely. "Come on up to the stage and tell us your name!"

Evanesca walked up to the stage, smiling.

She felt powerful up on that huge stage, staring down at all the faces below. Not a single one of them was approving, and most were scowls. Dante was standing in his own section, looking at her like she had lost her mind. She could see her parents at the back, her mother leaning against her father, looking like she was about to cry.

Evan gritted her teeth. She knew what they were thinking. They all thought she was too young, too small. But she'd play that to her advantage. She'd show them. This was _her _year, and when she won, nobody would think she was just a little girl anymore.

"I'm Evanesca Alten," she said loudly, "and I'm your next victor!"

"Lovely!" Silvio clapped his hands together happily. "Now on to the gentlemen!"

He reached into the boys' bowl just as dramatically, picking up and dropping several different slips before finally making a decision. He unfolded the slip, and the crowd was once again dead silent.

"Narcissan Delig―"

"I volunteer!"

The boys all growled angrily, and a boy in the seventeen-year-old section―he must've been Nacissan―glared at the general area that the shout had come from, looking like he wanted to pummel someone.

A boy stepped out of the twelve-year-old section, smiling crookedly. He was good-looking, tan, with short spiked-up blonde hair and unusual eyes that almost matched the his hair color. The crowd murmured unhappily. This year's tributes were both so young.

"You're an eager one, aren't you?" Silvio flitted to the edge of the stage, gesturing to the boy. "Come on up!"

Bliss stepped onto the stage, looking at the sea of faces below, each unhappy, each judging him. He saw Carly's parents staring at him sadly, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat. He wondered how Carly would react once she found out he had volunteered.

He saw his own parents too, standing rigidly at the back of the crowd. Significance―his mother, not that he'd ever call her that―was gazing at him coldly. He knew she was probably fuming inside. Her boy, her victor, the one that she'd spent so much time and effort in training was wasting it all by volunteering when he was only twelve. His father wasn't glancing at him, but Bliss knew he was mad, too. Naval went along with whatever Significance wanted.

Honestly, though, Bliss couldn't care less about his parents. He could have just as well waited another year, but Carly couldn't. He had to win this year, or Carly would die.

"What's your name, dear?" Silvio asked, leaning towards Bliss, curious.

"I'm Bliss Rarity," he announced, facing one of the cameras and putting on a grin. "And I'm going to win these Games!"

"Wonderful!" Silvio smiled. "We sure have some young tributes this year! Shake hands now, Bliss and Evanesca!"

The two of them did as they were told, keeping their gaze on each other.

The crowd applauded, as was expected, but it was weak, almost mechanical. This was a Games that they weren't excited for. A Games they didn't believe they could win.

With Peacekeepers at their sides, Evanesca and Bliss were led away.


	4. District Two

**A/N: **Hello again! Sorry for the bit of a wait, I've been working to get the blog up. It took a lot longer expected. Here's the link, remember to take out the spaces because fanfiction just despises links :P. It might be a bit slow, so just be patient. If it doesn't show up, it will also be on my profile.

*Also, something weird's been going on lately with my computer, and my blog refuses to show up. I have no idea what's going on, I sincerely hope it's just my internet. PM me if it happens to you.

illusion the 99th hunger games. webs. com

_A special thank-you to _BecauseOfKillianJones _for the District Two female, and _Rachael torie b _for the District Two male._

**Question of the Chapter: **Who is your favorite tribute of District Two? And, as a follow-up question for after you've visited the blog- which character looks the most interesting so far?

~Ashes

* * *

**District Two**

* * *

**Rhea Kentwell, 18**

The knife flew through the air, a perfect throw, straight and deadly.

It surprised nobody when it lodged itself just shy of the black dot in the center of the bullseye, but Rhea's trainer, Shar, clapped anyway.

"See?" he gestured to the target, a proud grin splitting his face. "This is why Rhea is going to bring victory to District Two this Games!"

The girls watching cheered halfheartedly, barely looking up from their own training. Rhea knew they were jealous, for many of them were already eighteen, their last eligible year, but nobody would do better in the Games than her. So this year was hers, her year to volunteer. It was only fair. They knew that she was the best candidate.

Of course, they still weren't going to just sit back and let her volunteer. Rhea was going to have to fight for it, and she had no problem with that.

Shar gave her an approving pat on the back, and she gave him a small nod in turn. He was handsome, his blonde hair falling into his eyes as usual. Any other girl would have been throwing themselves at him, but not Rhea.

She didn't need any distractions, anything to pull her focus away from winning the Games. He was too enthusiastic, anyway. Too kind, too chatty, someone who might actually _care _about killing others. Although, she could still remember that one time they kissed, back when she was seventeen...

"Rhe-wa! Rhe-wa!"

Rhea was momentarily startled, but she knew of only one person who pronounced her name with that lisp, and she laughed as the five-year-old barreled herself into Rhea's arms.

"Rhewa!" Crystall, her younger sister, looked up at Rhea, giving her a toothy grin. "It's time for rweapings!"

"Yeah, what she said," a familiar voice chuckled.

Rhea looked up to see that her parents had come into the room, and they were both smiling warmly at her. Her father, Bolton, had one eye on Crystall, looking amused.

She'd always been the odd one out in her family, the one who never fit in with everyone else. Her father was a redhead, her mother a dirty blonde, along with both Crystall and Jaak. They were all slender, slight, unlike Rhea. Rhea was a brunette, tall and broad-shouldered and muscular, exactly the way one would expect a Career to look.

It was at times like this, when she saw how perfectly _together _her family looked, that Rhea couldn't help but notice how she stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Rhea!" A boy with mischievous eyes popped out from behind their mother's leg, excited. "That throw was _epic! _I wish I could do that! You are _so _going to win the Games this year! Can you teach me to do that sometime? When you come back, of course. Hey, which house do you think we're going to get in the Victor's Village? I want the one at the end of the street, you know, the one with the lavender shutters—"

"Woah, slow down there, Jaak," their mother, Mekka, laughed. "Rhea hasn't even won yet. You'll have to be patient."

Jaak grimaced. "We all know she's going to win, anyway. I don't even see why they'd bother holding a Games when Rhea's obviously going to kill everyone in five seconds flat. Hey, do you think she's going to break the record for most kills by a single tribute?"

"There he goes again," Bolton rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Rhea, run while you can."

Jaak stuck his tongue out at his father, and Bolton picked him up, much to his protest, sitting Jaak ontop of his shoulders.

"Actually, Rhea, it might be a good idea to head back to the house," Mekka said, laughing at her husband and son. "Kloei's waiting for you to head to the reapings with her."

"Make sure you go early so you can stand at the very front, near the stage!" Jaak gave her a wide grin. "That way you can run onto the stage before anyone else can steal your spot."

"That's right," Bolton said, ruffling Jaak's hair. "We wouldn't want you to miss your chance at volunteering, right Rhea?"

"Definitely not," she agreed.

"Dwefiwinly not," Crystall seconded, giggling.

* * *

It was a pretty, pretty house. Really. Rhea liked her house, the way it stood so proud, so tall, its silver sidings glistening in the sunlight. Her favorite part were the windows. She'd always thought that they looked like empty, soulless eyes, the way a person's would look after they were killed.

Then again, that was probably just her.

"Rhea!" Kloei called to her.

Kloei was making her way over to Rhea, a smile on her face, wearing a navy blue dress that really brought out her eyes.

"Hey Kloei," Rhea greeted her.

Kloei's enthusiastic smile turned into a frown as she came closer. "Rhea! You're not even dressed yet. Aren't you supposed to be there early? You're volunteering, right?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Well, then we'd better put a dress on you!" Kloei pulled her up the front steps, entering the pass code into the pad beside the door.

Technically speaking, people weren't supposed to tell each other the codes to their houses, but Kloei was Rhea's best friend, and Rhea knew her. She knew just how loyal Kloei was.

Even if it was just the two of them left in the Hunger Games, Kloei wouldn't kill Rhea, so breaking into her house was out of the question.

The door clicked open, and then they were in, and Kloei was taking Rhea up the spiral staircase, two stairs at a time.

"Do you have your dress picked out?" she asked as they went through the last door on the left and into an elegant room with a king-sized bed all for Rhea.

"Yep, it's this one right here." Rhea pulled a strapless black dress out of the closet. It was daring and dashing, with hidden sparkles.

"Ohh," Kloei giggled as she watched Rhea put it on. "That's gorgeous!"

Rhea gave her best friend a smile. "Glad you like it. It took me forever to choose between this one and my silver one."

"Oh, it's perfect," Kloei said. "Man, I can't believe you're volunteering, Rhea! It's going to be _way _too easy for you. Those tributes won't even realize what hit them."

Rhea laughed. "Thanks, Klo, but I don't think it's going to be _that _easy. I mean, there are going to be other Careers, after all."

"Argh," Kloei groaned. "Did you even watch the Reapings for One? A twelve-year-old and a thirteen-year-old? They have really got to be kidding. We all know you're going to win without a doubt, Rhea."

"Well, I am the best," she allowed.

Kloei sighed. "And I really wanted to volunteer this year. It is my last eligable year, after all. Oh well, I guess. I'll do with cheering on my best friend."

Rhea gave her a smile, but she didn't see why Kloei would ever want to volunteer. They _were_ best friends, but honestly and logically speaking, Kloei wouldn't have the guts to kill anyone. Kloei was good, strong, but definitely not as good as Rhea was. Kloei couldn't throw perfect bullseyes, or kill a person seven different ways with a sword.

Kloei was weak. Emotional, kind—she'd get attached to someone, and then she'd get herself killed.

Rhea, on the other hand, wasn't like Kloei.

Rhea was going to win.

* * *

**Shade Granite,** **18**

The sky was pretty today. It was a soft, pastel blue, fluffy white clouds floating along without a care in the world. It seemed that even the _sky _was excited for the reapings.

"So, Shade, I hear this is your year." Kize raised an eyebrow at him, curious.

"Yep, this is my year." Shade leaned back on his hands, watching the people passing by below. They were sitting up on the roof of his house, having a little down time together before leaving for the Reapings.

Kize chuckled. "You watched the One reaping, right?"

Shade groaned. "Don't even remind me, Kize. God, what were they thinking? Did you see them? The cute little girl with the big brown eyes and the blonde-haired boy? I swear, they're like suicidal or something."

Kize gave him a mocking grin. "Well, you're going to have to be in an alliance with them."

"Oh, shut up," Shade said, giving his best friend a shove. "Argh, I'm in it to win, not to babysit a bunch of stupid kids who have obviously lost their mind."

"Man. You'd better come back victor." Kize half-smiled, his brown eyes glinting. "I've always wanted to check out the houses in the Victor's Village."

Shade grinned. "I don't think the victors would take kindly to all our messing around. But hey, don't worry. I was _born _to be victor."

"You'd better be." Kize gave him a playful punch on the arm. "I'm not losing my partner in crime."

The two of them were silent for a moment, and Shade smiled, remembering when him and Kize rigged the knives in the Academy with weights so that nobody could throw them right. Man, they had made some people mad. It was just a month ago, but already it seemed distant.

"In all seriousness," Kize said, turning to look at Shade. "Are you sure? I know you've always wanted to be victor, but is it really that important to you? I mean, I feel like the two of us are doing just fine."

Shade exhaled slowly. He knew that it would be just as well if he didn't volunteer, if he stayed here in District Two, with Kize. He could just imagine the two of them getting into all sorts of trouble. Maybe they'd replace the fruits in a fruitstand with rubber balls, or dig a hole in the middle of town square and laugh at all the people who fell in.

But Shade could imagine the nights, too. The nights in the darkness of his room, where his dad's presence would feel all too real. Where he could almost hear the yelling, the screaming, the clanging of things being tossed around, and most of all, where he could still hear his mother crying.

He missed her, of course he did, but apparently she didn't miss him at all, because he hadn't seen her once since the divorce. And his dad. Away in the Capitol being a goddamn peacekeeper, still sending back money every month like he still _cared _about Shade.

Shade felt the familiar burning fury rising in him at the thought of his dad, and almost unconsciously, he clenched his hand into a fist.

Was Shade sure? You could say that.

"I'm more than sure," he said firmly, both to himself and to Kize.

Kize sighed. "Yeah. I thought so. I hear Rhea Kentwell is also volunteering this year, right?"

Shade glared at him. It was so like Kize to 'offhandedly' remind him that Rhea, the most promising, sadistic, bloodthirsty Career since who-knows-when was volunteering this year.

Not that Shade couldn't hold his own. He was well-known throughout his District, but more for being a troublemaker than being a Career. But Shade had been made for being victor. He knew he was a force to be reckoned with, and if winning the Games required killing Rhea in the process, then Shade was all for it.

"Shade?" the shout came to him from inside the house, muffled slightly by the walls.

"Yeah?" he yelled back.

"Where are you?" the voice was closer this time.

"I'm out here, on the roof with Kize!"

There was a pause, then a shuffling sound, followed by a little pop as the window was pulled open.

"Shade!" a woman was standing there, her arms crossed, a frown on her face but a good-natured glint in her eye. "I thought I told you to stop going on the roof. I swear, you're going to fall off one of these days, and then what am I going to do?"

"Sorry, Aunt Rondea," he said, flashing her a grin. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Just enjoying myself one last time before I head off to the reapings, and then the Hunger Games."

"_If_ you manage to be the first one to haul yourself up on that stage," Kize butted in.

"Well, you'd better get in here and start getting ready for the reaping, then." Her voice was reprimending, but Shade could see her eyes tighten at the mention of him volunteering.

Shade knew that his Aunt didn't want him volunteering, didn't want to lose him. He wished he could reassure her, give her some of his confidence. For Shade was absolutely sure he was going to win, and come back showered with riches and fame, leaving behind this house that he had grown up in.

"Yes, ma'am!" Shade gave her a military salute, then swung easily through the window and into his room, followed by Kize.

"You should wear your gray suit," she told him. "It brings out your eyes."

Shade scowled. "My eyes are blue."

Rondea shrugged. "Whatever. They look plenty gray to me."

_His father's eyes were gray. _"No, I said they're _blue._"

"Okay, okay." she held up her hands defensively. "Whatever you say. By the way, are you going to break up with Mirah?"

Shade looked confused. "Mirah?"

"You know, your girlfriend?"

"Oh, her." Shade waved it off. "I dumped her last week. I'm dating Hallia now."

Rondea stared at him incredulously for a second, then threw up her hands in surrender. "Okay, I give up. I'm done with trying to keep up with you and your girls. Just make sure you make it to the reaping on time, 'kay?"

"Alright."

Rondea turned to go, and Shade was about to pull his light blue suit out of the closet—because his eyes were _blue—_but his Aunt paused in the doorway.

"Shade?"

"Yeah?" he looked up at her.

Her brown eyes were unusually serious. "Don't do anything stupid."

She sounded so grave that, just for a second, Shade saw things her way. What if he really did die, killed in the Games?

But that was ridiculous.

He gave her his famous lopsided grin. "Of course."

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Helloooo District Two, and welcome, welcome, to the 99th Annual Hunger Games!"

The crowd roared with pleasure, and there were whoops and whistles from the large crowd gathered at the foot of the stage. They were all squished up at the very front, the ideal spot to rush themselves onstage as soon as the reaping winners were called. Among these faces, almost shoved against the stage, was a brunette girl with a cold gaze, and a gray-eyed boy, who, had he been reading this narration, would insist that his eyes were blue.

The Escort, Terra Selkirk, was flitting about the stage happily, lapping up the applause like a praised puppy. She was quite young, at just twenty-one, and this was only her second year being an Escort. Her red hair was done up in an elaborate braid, and a huge flower was pinned in it, almost larger than her head.

"Are we all ready for the best Games yet?" she called out.

"Yeah!" the crowd shouted.

"Great!" a wide grin split her face. "And now we will watch the lovely video about how our dear Games came to be, and have your esteemed mayor read the list of victors!"

There were groans from the crowd, but Terra's smile didn't falter as the video started to play behind her. The Rebellion, Dark Days, blah blah blah, nobody cared. People cared even less as the mayor took the stage, clearing his throat as he started down the long list of victors.

Auralie Ivory, the Mentor and victor of the 93rd Hunger Games, was watching the crowd curiously, probably wondering which one of the children she would be mentoring this year.

Auralie was the kind of person Rhea wanted to be like. Cold, ruthless, intelligent. She had slaughtered the whole Career Alliance in their sleep at the end of her Games. She was rumored to be a bit unhinged, driven insane by her Games, but Rhea didn't care about that.

Finally, the seemingly endless list of victors ended, and Terra gave a bright wave before reaching into the girls' bowl—with a cheery, 'ladies first', of course, pulling out the first name she touched.

"Imo-"

"I VOLUNTEER!" a hundred voices shouted at once, and then the frenzy began.

Catfights broke out among the girls, with the boys cheering them on. There was screeching as girls scratched at each others' faces and pulled at one another's hair. There were also groans of those who had suffered punches and kicks from the girls who weren't afraid to break a nail.

Among this chaos somehow emerged a brunette girl with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She was built tall and muscular, a Career's body, wearing a black strapless dress. A blonde-haired girl lunged for her, but she gave them a punch square in the face without hesitation.

She looked bemused as she took the stairs. Someone latched their hand onto her ankle, but she gave them a well-aimed kick, and then she was free and onto the stage. There were shouted curses.

Terra clapped happily. "What's your name?"

The girl glanced around at everyone, then gave a small smile. "My name is Rhea Kentwell." Her voice was steely, strong. Everyone was quiet.

Terra waited, expectant for more, but Rhea was silent. With a shrug, she turned to the boys' bowl, and this time, plunged her hand to the very bottom before picking out a name.

"Mik-"

The boys were already rushing for the stage. In a matter of minutes, there were already a dozen boys on the ground, clutching a variety of body parts. A black-haired boy ducked beneath the elbow of a redhead, beelining for the stage. Just when it looked like he was about to make it, a boy with light brown hair pulled him back by his gold suit, then gave him a good kick in the stomach.

The brown-haired boy ran up the stairs, avoiding the people lunging at him, and took to the stage. He was just as muscular as Rhea, strong and handsome.

"My, my!" Terra said enthusiastically. "Whatever could your name be?"

"I'm Shade Granite," he announced loudly, a crooked grin on his face. "And I will be your victor!"

Boos emanated from the crowd of boys.

"Lovely!" Terra exclaimed, ignoring them. "We have winners this year for sure!"

They shook hands—Shade with a wide grin on his face, and Rhea, her eyes as cold as ever—before being led away.


	5. District Three

**A/N: **Thanks everyone for the awesome reviews! And I don't know what's going on with the pictures, it's very unfortunate. I don't know how to make them load, they show up perfectly fine when I go to my website builder. I've reported the problem, but I doubt they're going to bother to look at it...I'm working on it, though, so I'll see what I can do.

Also, I thought I'd let you guys know, I'm going on vacation in Mexico for a week! No school! Beaches! Yay! Which means there won't be any updates for two weeks(it usually takes me a week to write a chapter), unless I get incredibly bored in Mexico and decide to pass the time writing. Which is pretty unlikely. I'm sorry about the delay though, and please bear with me while I enjoy sun and sand in the land of the Aztecs. That is, before the Spanish destroyed their cities, overtook their culture, and slaughtered them all for gold...sorry, I'm getting distracted. :P

Anyway, time for District Three! Finally, some people who don't _want _to be in the Games. :3

_A special thank-you to _Buttons301 _for the District Three female, and _Atashi Desu _for the District Three male._

**Question of the Chapter: **Who's your favorite tribute from District Three? Yeah, you know the drill by now.

~Ashes

* * *

**District Three**

* * *

**Misa Hodgeton,** **17**

_And so Illirea ran, faster, faster, anything to get away from it all. She was a murderer, someone who had killed an innocent Capitol citizen in cold blood. The guilt haunted her, but there was nothing she could do. It was already done, already over, and now all she could do was run._

_The Maple tree just around the corner was the last thing she saw before the Peacekeeper shot her._

Misa groaned. She'd read this book a thousand times, but her hate for it hadn't lessened. She felt the urge to toss the book down from the tree and over the fence, far, far away, but she resisted it. Her family might be doing well, but it wasn't like money just grew on trees, and this book had cost half a week's income.

_What is wrong? _Decker signed to her, an amused expression on his face.

_I hate this stupid book, _Misa signed back to her brother. _The ending is stupid. This is what happens when the Capitol moderates everything you read._

Decker chucked. He was used to Misa's complaining by now, because after all, they had grown up together. Even though things became more complicated after a high fever left him deaf, they'd still managed to keep a easy relationship.

_How can you not be used to it? _he asked her. _All_ _your books are like that?_

Misa sighed. _I know. I am just tired of the stupid Capitol. And it is that time of year again._

_Oh yes. _Decker paused for a moment, trying to recall the sign he was looking for. _The Reaping._

Misa nodded, then let her book drop down from the tree she was perched in and land softly on the grass. _I do not know what I would do if either of us were reaped. And you are deaf. Are they even allowed to reap deaf kids? You would not stand a chance._

_Do not worry, _Decker reassured her. _Our__ parents insisted we take no tesserae, so we are only ten slips in thousands. The odds are pretty good. I am sure they will not reap the deaf boy or the crazy tree-girl from the weird farm family. When is your next tree-climbing competition, anyway? Next week?_

_Hey, _she signed to him, giving him a friendly jab. _And i__t is next Tuesday. B__ut I suppose you are right. We are just ten slips. And I have just one final reaping left after this, and then I will be free. _

Decker gave her a grin. _That is the spirit._

_You, on the other hand, have three years left after this, _Misa signed, and he scowled at her.

"Misa!" Misa looked up in time to see two brown-haired boys tumbling over themselves to get to the tree that she and Decker had climbed. Decker with much help on her part, of course.

"Misa! Misa!" the slightly older one was yelling over the shouts of the freckled younger boy. "Don't listen to anything Stylus says! I didn't—"

"Faraday took your cookie!" Stylus proclaimed. "I saw him! I had it saved just for you on the table, and then he took it and ate it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Boys, boys," Misa laughed, tucking a strand of auburn hair back behind her ear. "Calm down. It's fine if Faraday ate my cookie, I'm not really hungry, anyway."

Faraday stuck his tongue out at his younger brother, and Stylus looked put off.

"Of course, that was really sweet of you to save a cookie for me, Stylus," Misa added hurriedly.

"Told you," Stylus muttered.

Decker raised an eyebrow curiously at her, and Misa quickly signed the cookie incident to him. He laughed when she was done. Misa couldn't help but smile as well.

Her brothers were so innocent, untainted by Hunger Games. They knew what the Games were, of course, but they were never allowed to watch them, although they watched the reapings.

It broke her heart knowing that Faraday would turn twelve next year, and then his name would be in the bowl, more and more each year. She couldn't imagine losing any one of her brothers to something as barbaric and horrible as the Hunger Games.

Stylus gave Misa a wide grin, looking up at her with his big olive eyes, eyes that were a mirror image of hers. Her and Stylus had inherited their father's olive eyes, while Decker and Faraday had their mother's light brown ones. "Are we going to feed the cows now, Misa? Mama says we have to go to the reaping at soon, so we have to feed them early."

"Oh, yeah. That might be a good idea." Misa smiled. "I'm sure Debbie and the others are hungry."

"Yay! Cow feeding!" the two boys raced off for the barn.

_Where are they going? _Decker asked.

_We are feeding the cows early, _Misa signed. _Want to come?_

Decker nodded eagerly, a grin on his face.

* * *

The barn smelt like sweat and manure, but Misa loved it anyway. Living on a dairy farm when you were in District Three guaranteed that you were labeled as an outsider, but the citizens were still nice to her family, which was really all they could ask for.

Personally, there was nothing Misa loved more than the musky smell of the farm, and sitting beside Debbie to read a good book. Sometimes her parents would joke that their baby had been swapped with a District Ten child, which was highly unlikely, since District Ten was thousands of miles away.

"Hey there, Debbie," she said, greeting the cow that was technically 'hers' with a little pat on the head. "How are things going?"

The cow let out an indignant _moo, _giving Misa a look that clearly stated she wanted her food.

"Alright, alright," Misa laughed. She refilled the hay in the cow's feeding trough. "Still ever so sassy, Debbie."

Misa watched Debbie munch happily on her hay, and leaned against her with a sigh. "_You _never have to worry about the Hunger Games, Deb. You probably don't even know what they are. Sometimes I wish I was a cow. Okay, not really, but you guys certainly have it more carefree than us." she paused for a second.

"What am I going to do if I get reaped? Or worse, Decker? I don't think I could stand watching Decker in the Games. He won't even stand a chance if he goes in. And what about me? I couldn't imagine going to the Capitol, being pampered for death... having to _kill _people—"

Debbie gave an annoyed snort, glancing at Misa out of the corner of her big eye.

"Okay, you're right," Misa relented. "I'm just being a pessimist. Neither me nor Decker took tessarae. The odds are definitely in our favor."

"Boys! Misa! Come inside, please. It's time to get ready for the reaping!" their mother called, sticking her head into the barn. "Oh, and Misa, could you tell Decker to come inside as well?"

"Sure, Ma!" she called back, then signed so to Decker, who was feeding his own cow, Marv.

"I bet I can beat you back to the house," Faraday challenged Stylus.

"I bet not," Stylus said, puffing up his chest.

"I'm older."

"I'm—hey!"

Faraday had already taken off through the barn doors, laughing, on a mad dash back to the house.

"No fair!" Stylus shouted, running after him. "Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater!"

Decker started after them, too, and Misa watched them go, smiling. It was hard to be happy in a place like Panem, but out here, on one of the quiet dairy farms—the District's providers of all things dairy, since Milk would spoil if it were shipped all the way from District Ten—far away from the technology that always made Misa's head hurt, she felt like she was happy.

Sure, they might be oddballs, but they had their own happiness.

Decker paused, turning around to look at Misa. _You coming? _

She saw Faraday and Stylus through the barn door that they had left open, laughing and shouting as they ran into the house, and she nodded.

_Yes, I am, _she signed.

* * *

**Flux Renshaw, 15**

_Reaping day._

It was reaping day again. Yet another Hunger Games, twenty-three more children that would die. Flux was sitting on his bed, glancing out the window at the younger kids in the group home, laughing and playing, not yet of age to worry about going into the Games.

Another reaping, another reaping he'd spend alone, with nobody to worry for. Other than himself, of course. But, Flux was very well certain that the Capitol would kill him eventually, anyway. It was only a matter of time. They'd want to finish what they started.

A disk hit the window outside, and Flux jumped, before managing a smile. He had created the simple disk Game back when he was six, back when things were still okay, and it was still being played.

A little girl with dark brown hair skipped to the window, laughing at whomever had thrown the disk, and Flux almost did a double take. Bitta... was that Bitta?

No. She had died four months ago. He had seen her, held her when her breathing stopped. The Capitol—they did something to her. Her food, her water, something. He knew it. They wanted his family all gone.

But Flux still couldn't stop his heart from racing, nor could he stop the surge of disappointment and sadness that flooded through him when the little girl turned, and he could see her bright blue eyes. Bitta's had been hazel. Just like her mother.

"Flux?"

He looked up, blinking. The lady who ran the group home—a kind elderly woman whose face was creased with age—was standing at his door.

"Yes, Miss Polly?"

"What are you doing here still?" she scolded. "Uri is already gone."

With somewhat of a startled breath, Flux realized that his roommate's bed was in fact, empty. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd missed Uri leaving.

"I'm sorry, I must have lost track of time. I'll be leaving right now, Miss Polly."

Her eyes grew soft. "Of course, you poor thing." She'd always had a soft spot for him after Bitta's death. "Your friends—Linni and Mart, I believe—are waiting for you outside. Although, I do recommend you change into something more presentable."

"It's Linux and Mac, ma'am," Flux corrected. "And I'm fine." Miss Polly knew this perfectly well. He never changed for reapings. Why should he celebrate the death of two innocent children?

She frowned. "At least run a brush through your hair first, Flux."

"No, Miss, it's fine." he stood up, brushing past her at the door. "I wouldn't want to be late."

He headed for the front door, where Linux and Mac gave him grins and waves. The two boys were twins, although they weren't completely identical. Linux was red-haired, and shorter than blonde-haired Mac. However, they did share the same brown eyes and freckles.

"Hey Flux," they greeted him.

"Hey guys," he said back, though not very enthusiastically. "Reaping day again, huh?"

"Tell me about it," Linux sighed. "It's a pain to think we still have three more years of this. By the way, Flux, it's quite a bright day outside."

Flux took heed of his warning, but still winced as he stepped into the bright sunlight. Being an albino, the sun— especially when it was extremely bright like it was now—bothered him quite a bit. It seemed like a sin for it to be so sunny on reaping day.

"I talked to Estee," Mac began.

"Oh, he _talked _to Estee," Linux interrupted, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Mac glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Linux coughed. Mac was the only one not aware of Estee's crush on him, and Linux and Flux had a bet on whether she'd ever tell him how she felt.

"Anyway," Mac continued, eyeing Linux. "As I was saying, I talked to Estee, and she's going to meet us in front of her house."

"Cool," Linux said, hiding a smile.

They continued on their way to the reapings, and Flux was aware, as usual, of the many eyes watching him. He was somewhat of an oddity in his District. For one, because of his white hair and weird lavender eyes, and for two, they just assumed that he must have rather weird quirks, for being so intelligent, which he was also known for.

"Look, there she is now," Mac said.

Sure enough, Flux could see Estee up ahead, her bright red hair making her stand out among the crowds of children all heading down to the reapings. She gave them a shy wave as they strode up to her and her very fancy house. Okay, Flux admitted that was a bit of an overstatement, although her family was doing fairly well for Three. Certainly better than Flux's was.

He winced. He shouldn't have brought up his family. Their faces flashed through his mind, Baud and Tera and Frag and Corba and Chip and Bitta—

_Stop it, _he told himself. _They're all dead, and nothing can change that. _

The Capitol—they certainly had it out to get him. Maybe if his parents and siblings hadn't gotten into stealing from the factories, they'd still be okay.

Then again, innocence hadn't saved his sister Corba from execution. Or Bitta from being poisoned by the Capitol, even though she'd never had anything to do with any of it all.

Linux must've seen the expression on Flux's face, because he glanced at him curiously. However, he was well used to Flux's emotions by now. He knew how much Flux's loss still hurt him, and that was why they were still friends, even though Flux had become so much more withdrawn.

"Hello, Estee," they all greeted her. She smiled by way of greeting them back.

They fell into step together, heading towards town center. The only people missing from their group were Radar and Codette, but Radar lived quite a ways away, in the richer part of the District. Codette probably still hadn't left her home yet, still taking care of her sick mother and four younger siblings.

As the town center loomed closer, and Flux could see the children gathered there, he felt a sense of unease in his stomach. Not for himself, of course. He was beyond that. For the innocent children that were going to have their lives shattered very, very soon.

Another year.

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Hello, District Three, and happy Hunger Games! As always, it's an _absolute_ pleasure to be here!" their Escort, Fannia Herriot, gave the gathered crowd a bright smile. She was dressed in a floor-length purple dress, a huge pink feather boa wrapped around her neck, matching her curly pink hair perfectly.

The crowd shifted uneasily, murmuring hellos. There was scattered applause that wasn't very exciting, but the Capitol had been ready for this. Loud cheers and whooping—probably recorded from one of the Career Districts—blasted out of the speakers.

"Wonderful!" Fannia clapped her hands together. "I'm glad you all are _so _excited!"

Flux snorted. Everyone knew Fannia hated District Three. She had been their Escort since she was twenty, and she had never been happy about it. She had tried to do her best and excel at her job, to hopefully get promoted to a District where the citizens actually _were _excited, but it was now twelve years later, and it looked like she hadn't had any luck.

The video of the Dark Ages began to play, followed by the mayor's speech and the reading of past victors. The list was quite short, and it was all over pretty fast. They hadn't had a victor for over two decades.

Their latest victor, Cypres Jardin—victor of the 79th Hunger Games, and the only one of two victors who hadn't died in the Second Rebellion—was almost forty, yet still mentoring. His face was creased in wrinkles, but nobody could forget the boy prodigy that had once taken out the entire Career alliance with planted landmines.

"Great, now that we have that over with, the fun stuff can begin!" Fannia's eyes twinkled, and fake applause was once again played over the speakers. "And of course, we will have our lovely ladies first!"

She skipped over to the ladies' bowl, her attitude far too cheery for the tension among the crowd.

Nobody dared to even breath as she rummaged around for a bit before producing a single slip of paper. She opened it slowly, going for maximum dramatic effect, and cleared her throat into the microphone. The sound echoed around the square.

"Misa Hodgeton!"

And there, in the seventeen-year-old section, an auburn-haired girl snapped her head up. There were visible sighs of relief and relaxing around her, and she could see the eighteen-year-olds smiling and giving each other reassuring pats. They were free.

Misa wasn't.

The terror welled up in her then, the fear, the horror. She had been reaped. For the Hunger Games. To kill people. She had been just six slips. Six. How could it have been her that was drawn when there were plenty of kids who took tesserae?

_No. _

It couldn't be her. It couldn't be. Somehow all she could think about right now was her tree-climbing competition. She'd have to miss it. She had never missed a competition before.

Someone to the side of her gave her a shove, and then she was out of the crowd. The girl who had pushed her gave her a pitying look before glancing quickly away.

"Wonderful!" Fannia smiled happily. "What a nice young woman. Come on up, darling."

Misa walked forwards, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She was afraid, but she wouldn't let that show. She could do it. She could survive, if she tried really, really hard. She had to, for her parents and Decker and Stylus and Faraday. Right?

She was up on the stage now, and she could feel the familiar anxiety—stage fright—rising up in her. She had always been so shy. It seemed stupid now, but she couldn't look up, at all the people watching her, especially her parents. Were they crying? She didn't know. What was Riley doing? How would her clumsy best friend get by without her? What about Decker? Being deaf, he must not have even realized it was her name that was called until he saw her walking up. And Stylus and Faraday. Would they be watching the Games this year, now that she was in it? Would they watch her die?

Fannia gave her what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. Misa wasn't reassured at all.

Flux looked sadly at the girl on stage. Misa Hodgeton, Fannia had said. She was staring at her feet like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Flux recognized her. She was one of the people who lived on the dairy farms, although Flux couldn't grasp why anyone would want to live on a _farm _in the District of technology. She was always reading whenever Flux saw her at school, and she was somewhat of an outcast and only had one friend, a boy named Riley.

"Now, we'll move on, to the ever so lovely gentlemen!" Fannia strutted over to the boys' bowl, and made a huge show of rummaging around the bowl before settling on a slip.

"And our male tribute..." she squinted at the paper. "Flux Renshaw!"

There was a moment of silence.

So this was how they'd get rid of the last of the Renshaw family. Of course they'd want to do it properly, with the Hunger Games. Somehow, Flux wasn't the least bit surprised. It was bound to happen eventually, wasn't it?

"Flux Renshaw?" Fannia scanned the crowd, frowning. "Are you out there?"

Flux stepped out of the fifteen-year-old section, well aware of Linux and Mac—who had been standing on either side of him—staring at him with identical expressions of horror that might have been funny in any other situation.

He strode up to the stage, ignoring the startled look Fannia gave him at seeing him in such casual clothing. Or maybe she had just never seen an albino before. He could pick out his friends among the crowd, all looking sad and horrified, like they were already at his funeral.

"Flux Renshaw and Misa Hodgeton, everyone!" Fannia put her bright smile back on her face. "Is it just me, or do we have a certain victor this year?"

More fake applause burst out of the speakers.

Flux shook Misa's hand, although she kept her olive-colored eyes on her feet, not meeting his lavender ones. _Two oddballs this year, _Flux though bitterly, before the Peacekeepers led them away.


	6. District Four

**A/N: **At a very good suggestion from Atashi Desu(thanks!), I'm going to insert a link on the blog, and post all the pictures of the tributes somewhere else(perhaps on photobucket?), because they just refuse to show up. It's not up yet, but it should be by the next two chapters. I have to find them all over again, because I was smart enough to delete the folder from my computer.

That aside, can you believe these two tributes are from different authors? It's like they were made for each other. Enjoy District Four, because I enjoyed writing it very, very much.

_A special thank-you to_ C1nd3r5 _for the Distict Four female, and_ MaliceArchangela _for the District Four male._

**Question of the Chapter: **Favorite tribute of District Four?

~Ashes

* * *

**District Four**

* * *

**Curvier Galeocerdo,** **18**

"How are your legs, Sebae?" Curvier asked, a tiny frown on her lips.

"Same as usual," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Been this way for twelve years, Curvier. I don't know why you keep asking me."

A stone suddenly hurtled through the open window, and Curvier ducked just in time. It smashed right into the wall of Sebae's bedroom, leaving a massive hole in the plaster.

"You fucking bitch!" a male voice yelled. "This is my last goddamned year! Fix my arm! _Fix it!_"

Curvier calmly walked over to the window and slid it shut, muffling the guy's angry shouts.

"Sorry," she said, giving Sebae an apologetic look. "He won't leave me alone. I'll pay for your wall, I promise.

"Was that Lipp?" he asked.

"Yeah," she admitted. "He fell off his balcony."

"I see." Sebae was looking at her in that way of his, all quiet and thoughtful. This was one of the things she loved about Sebae; he didn't judge her. He saw everything through those pale blue eyes of his, committing it all to memory. He was so different from those hotheaded Careers, so loud and obnoxious, only in it for the danger of being with _her. _

Or maybe he _did_ judge her, but didn't let it show. That was what Curvier was afraid of.

"So, reaping day today, huh?" Sebae's eyes met hers, and for a second, she was sure, _sure _that he knew exactly what she planned to do.

But that was impossible.

"Yep." Curvier kept her voice nonchalant. "Kalli was boasting about volunteering all this week. I'm not sure if she'll have the guts to, though."

Sebae snorted. "Kalli? Can you imagine _her _running around the arena? Every stomp of those massive feet would cause an earthquake."

Laughter bubbled out of Curvier's lips. Nobody could make her laugh like Sebae. "I know, right? She'd trip on a tree root or something, and then there'd be a crater in the ground."

Sebae smiled, and for a wild second, Curvier wondered how it would feel to brush back his black hair, the black hair that was constantly falling into his eyes. To run her fingers through the tousled strands—

_Stop it, _she commanded sharply.

Just then, the chime of the doorbell echoed up from below. Curvier stiffened immediately, her eyes darting to the window. She couldn't see down below, but she had no doubt of what would be there if she leaned out to steal a glance.

Her father's gold crowned head.

She heard voices bubbling down below, a woman's voice and a man's voice; Sebae's mother and her own father. She would have recognized his voice anywhere, the smooth, almost liquid way he flowed over his words.

"I've got to go," she said quickly.

"I know." Sebae nodded at her. "I'll see you at the reaping."

Yes, the reaping, because Sebae would be there, sitting in his wheelchair, everyone giving him pitying glances. Even though his bones were brittle, even though one wrong move would snap them to pieces, he would still be there.

She missed the old Sebae, the one who could always beat her in races, the one who built castles with her in the sand and swam with her in the sea. The younger Sebae, before the disease took hold of him, before his bones deteriorated, starting with his legs.

How Curvier hated the disease. Back in the old days, the days before the Dark Ages, it used to be incurable. Fatal, deadly, a disease that slowly consumed you while you waited for your bones to succumb, for yourself to fall apart. But not anymore.

There is a cure—a surgery. To replace all of the bones in your body, to use mechanics to fix you. The recovery process was slow, but you could be fixed, be made better, and then you could be running and swimming and being who you once used to be.

But it was a cure reserved for the elite—the elite of the Capitolites. A cure that required not just boatloads and boatloads of cash, but also connections with the doctors. A cure that was far out of the reach of anyone in Four.

But not out of the reach of a Victor.

"There you are, Curvier," her dad said as she came down the stairs.

"Oh yes, she was just spending some time with Sebae, the lovely young woman." Mrs. Walker looked flustered, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of Curvier's father, even though she was married. He tended to have that effect on women.

"Of course." He glanced at Curvier. "Although I'm afraid it's time we head to the reaping. Curvier will make sure to drop by another time. Right, my dear?"

Her father was as charming as ever, all dazzling smiles and well-placed words. Still, though, Curvier could hear the warning in his voice, the coldness that was hiding just behind his twinkling green eyes. He had made her perfect, an identical, female copy of himself, and he wouldn't tolerate her spending time with an abomination to the District such as Sebae.

"Definitely." she smiled back at him. Two could play at this game. "I know Sebae enjoys my company. Maybe I'll even stop by after the reaping is over."

After the reaping was over. Oh, boy would her father be mad then, after what she was planning to do. His precious creation, wasted. Curvier was glad she wouldn't be there to see it.

Her father's smile twitched just a little bit. "Goodbye, Madaline. And best wishes to your son."

"Thank you, Requin. Please, feel free to stop by any time."

The second the door was shut, her father was a different person entirely. His smile slid off of his face, and his eyes hardened.

"How many times have I told you not to talk to that boy?" he hissed at her.

"I'm sorry, father." Curvier's words were smooth. "I promise you it won't happen again."

"Don't give me that bullshit," he snapped. "You know that I'm not falling for any of it. And I swear, Curvier, if I ever see you with him again..."

Requin stormed off angrily, leaving Curvier to take her time heading back to their house. She didn't like making her father angry all the time, but she couldn't stop talking to Sebae, not when he was the only one who didn't seem to judge.

Lipp seemed to suddenly burst out of nowhere, his face as purple as the underside of a storm cloud. Curvier had no time to react, and then he had his good hand wrapped around her throat. It was disconcerting to think that just last week, she had made out with him on a canoe.

"How am I going to volunteer for the Games now, huh?" his breath smelled like fish. Which wasn't really a surprise. "Give me back my arm, you-"

He broke off into a painful yelp as Curvier kneed him in the stomach. He stumbled back, then charged at her, swinging a punch at her face that she ducked out of. She narrowly avoided another sling of his arm, and then suddenly, he was backing off.

Curvier was surprised, but then she realized that two girls had appeared from behind her. It took a while of sorting through her brain, but she dimly recognized them as Haven and Coral, two girls who went to her school.

"You asked for it, Lipp," Haven told him, crossing her arms. "You were the one who insisted that 'the Black Widow can't take me.'"

"It's kind of your own fault." Coral shrugged. "We warned you."

He looked from Haven to Coral, then seemed to decide that it wasn't worth it to stoop that low, because he retreated with an angry huff.

There was a moment of silence, then Curvier turned to the two girls, arranging her face into a bubbly smile. "Oh, thank you _so _much, guys. I was kind of screwed there."

"No problem," Coral said easily.

"Although, one question." Haven's eyes sparkled curiously. "Why do you do it?"

Why did she do it? The truth was, Curvier didn't know. It amused her, maybe. Sometimes their expressions afterwards made her laugh. The hothead Careers, deflated for a change. After all, why should they be running around all fit and healthy when Sebae couldn't even walk across his room?

Or maybe it was because it was what they expected of her, of the Black Widow. And she couldn't let them down, now could she?

"Do what?" Curvier looked at them with a puzzled expression. "I didn't do anything. He fell off his balcony."

Haven snorted, obviously not believing her. But before she could say anything else, Curvier cut in sharply.

"I'm volunteering this year."

Both girls blinked at her for a second. It took a few minutes for them to get their bearings.

"Oh my God, seriously?" Coral finally managed, giggling. "Why? For fame? For money?"

"For boys?" Haven butt in, grinning.

_For Sebae,_ she wanted to say._ For his surgery._ _So that maybe, just maybe, we __could walk down the streets together. So that maybe, if he wanted to, we could hold hands and smile at one another, and then I'd lean in and brush his hair away from his forehead, and he'd whisper to me the three words I've always wanted to hear. So that maybe, just maybe, he could be mine._

But instead, all she said was, "Just for fun."

* * *

**Cetus Celaeno, 17 **

His father was out spearfishing.

Spearfishing. How boring. To think that he had once liked it, enjoyed it, the way the spear would glide down through the water, piercing the fish dead center. It had looked so interesting. But now that he had mastered it, he had quickly grown tired of it. His old spearfishing trophy sat on his shelf, gathering dust. His father, Triton, had been very proud of him and had wanted him to continue, but he never did.

As with a lot of things. Foot-racing, camouflage, surfing, cooking. Just things that had come and gone. He'd kept at them, single-minded, until he could do them perfectly. And then he got bored.

Cetus sighed. He was kind of in-between hobbies at the moment, and this was his least favorite time. Nothing to hold on to, to keep him grounded. Nothing to _do. _

"Blu, where's my doll?" Scylla screeched from somewhere downstairs.

"I don't know!" Blu shouted back. "I said I didn't take it!"

"She's not an _it!" _

"Guys, can you just be quiet for a moment?" Cetus yelled down to his younger brother and sister. They were so loud all the time, screeching and crying.

It was silent.

"Sorry," he murmured down to them, a bit guilty, then resumed staring out the window.

A blonde guy passed by beneath him, kicking a rock. His left arm was in a sling, and he was muttering angrily. Cetus leaned forward to get a better look at him, curious.

The guy looked up for just a second, and Cetus realized it was Lipp. He was a grade higher than him, and Cetus sometimes saw him in the hallways at school. Lately, there had been rumors going around that he was dating the Black Widow, and apparently, looking at the state he was in, they were true.

"Cetus?" there was a knock at the door, and then his mother entered the room, smiling at him. Her brown eyes—eyes that were a mirror image of his—were warm.

"Hey, mom." he stood up, turning around to give her a hug. He had always loved Cassie, everything from the way she could cheer him and his siblings up to how she made the best fish fillets in town.

"You ready for the reaping?" she asked.

"Oh, right," Cetus said, slapping a hand to his forehead. "I completely forgot! That's today, right?"

Cassie laughed. "Yes, Cetus. Better start getting ready, we're leaving soon. Blu wants to be right up in the front of our section, watching. He's eligible next year so he wants to know how it works."

"Okay, mom."

Cassie gave him a pat on the shoulder, and then left, closing the door behind her. Cetus glanced over his collection of different colored suits—they had once been a hobby of his—before settling on a gray one. It was nice, hand-sewn, with ebony buttons. It was a great piece, one of famous designer Intarsia Baize's.

He had just pulled the suit out when movement from the window caught his eye.

Cetus glanced outside, his eyes widening when he saw Lipp and some blonde girl, there on the sidewalk. He had his good hand around her neck like a vise, and her face was so red that it took him a while to recognize her.

The Black Widow.

The girl who his friends at school had always warned him to stay far, far away from, the girl who they said would break his heart, and then his neck. She was beautiful, sure, they always told him, but it wasn't worth it. Not that she would ever have been interested in him, anyway. He was plain, unnoticeable, and she only went for the strong, handsome Career type.

For a second, as Lipp leaned in, his grip tightening, Cetus worried that maybe he should run outside, stop him before he killed her.

But then Lipp was stumbling back, and Cetus realized that the girl had kneed him in the stomach. For some reason, that brought laughter to his lips. Oh, she had _fire. _

Lipp charged forward again, and Cetus watched, fascinated, as she expertly ducked beneath his punch, then pulled back to avoid a sling of his arm by mere inches. She was something, that was for sure.

Cetus had been so focused on the fight that he hadn't noticed the two girls that were now standing there behind the Black Widow, and then suddenly, Lipp was backing off. Cetus was oddly disappointed. He had wanted to watch Lipp get beaten to a pulp by a girl.

"You asked for it, Lipp," one of the girls said, her voice carrying to Cetus. "You were the one who insisted the Black Widow 'can't take me.'"

"It's kind of your own fault," the other girl said. Cetus recognized her. Coral, from his gym class. "We warned you."

Lipp looked back and forth between them, and for a second, Cetus thought he was going to lunge at them, too. But then he backed away, his face stormy, probably trying to preserve what little of his dignity was left.

There was a pause, and when the girls spoke again, it was quieter. Cetus had to lean forward some more to catch what they were saying.

"—guys. I was kind of screwed there," the Black Widow was saying, giving the two girls a relieved smile. Cetus frowned, confused. She had been holding her own perfectly fine—winning, even. She hadn't needed their help. So why was she saying she had been screwed?

"No problem," Coral told her, with a hint of contempt in her voice.

"Although, one question," the other girl, the one who was unfamiliar to Cetus, spoke. "Why do you do it?"

Now this, Cetus wanted to hear. He pushed himself forward a little bit more, eagerly waiting for the answer.

"Do what?" the Black Widow was confused. "He fell off his balcony."

Disappointment surged up in him. What? She seemed like she genuinely was confused. Did Lipp really just fall off his balcony? But that didn't make any sense—she was the Black Widow, after all, wasn't breaking her boyfriends' limbs part of her job description?

Suddenly, Cetus realized that his whole upper body was leaning out the window, and he quickly moved to pull himself back.

"I'm volunteering this year," the Black Widow said, loudly, suddenly. Cetus froze, blinking with surprise.

The two girls must have been surprised too, because they were silent.

"Oh my God, seriously?" Coral managed finally, sounding excited. "Why? For fame? For money?"

"For boys?" the other girl asked, giggling, and Cetus found himself leaning forward again. It would all make sense, of course. Only the biggest and best Careers would volunteer for the Games, and that was what the Black Widow wanted in a guy, after all. Well, she'd have to kill them afterward, but that wasn't a far cry from what she did now, anyway.

There was a moment's silence, a moment that felt like forever to Cetus. _What will she say? What will she say? What will she say? _

"Just for fun," she told them nonchalantly.

Cetus found himself intrigued by her tone. So casual, so flippant, as if she was telling them about a weekend fishing trip. How going into an arena to slaughter twenty-three other people and possibly die herself was _fun._ The way that as she walked down the street and out of sight, her blonde hair glistened as it caught the sunlight. Her confident strut, how her head was forever held so high, how when she smiled, he couldn't seem to look away.

_Just for fun. _

He liked the way she had said that.

He liked _her._

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Good afternoon, District Four!" Muscida Baxwoll, their escort, gave her signature wink to the gathered crowd, and the light danced off of the sapphires embedded in her pupil. It would have been even more stunning in full sunlight, but the day was rather cloudy, the ocean storming angrily. The clouds were puffed up and a menacing dark gray, looking as though they would unleash a torrent of rain at any moment.

"Good afternoon, Muscida!" they all echoed back.

"Are you ready for the 99th Annual Hunger Games?" she spread her arms wide, her dark skin glittering faintly. She was wearing fishing nets on her arms, and heavy green and blue makeup.

"Yes!" everyone cheered. As a Career district, it was what was expected of them, after all. Cheering. Volunteering. Excitement. The truth was, hardly anyone in the District actually enjoyed the Games as One and Two did.

Down inside, they just wanted to be left alone, to be happy with their children, to fish and swim and sit by the sea. When that first Academy was built, it wasn't meant to make them bloodthirsty killers. It was meant to protect their children, to help them survive, to save them. And this was the price of protection—loving the Games.

"Wonderful." Muscida smiled, revealing pearly white teeth. She stepped back, allowing the video of the Dark Ages to be shown, and then Mayor Lei took the stage, giving her speech and unraveling a long list of Victors.

If you really focused on the names, you would realize that almost all of them had fought on the side of District Thirteen in the Second Rebellion. And almost all of them were dead.

The Mentor, Lavine Bleu, was scanning the crowd intently. She had won with her trusty harpoon, throwing it straight into the District One boy's heart. There were rumors that the only reason why she hadn't fought in the Rebellion had been because of her newborn son. But whatever the reason was, she hadn't fought, and now she was a Mentor.

Muscida returned to the stage as the mayor finished, the crowd hooting their approval. She strode casually over to the girls' bowl, then plucked a name from the top.

"Verina Seeth!" she called out loudly.

There were mumurs in the fourteen-year-old section, and then a tall, gangly girl with choppy braids stepped out, blinking, as if she were in a dream.

Muscida smiled at her, then mouthed, _stay there, darling. _

"Any volunteers for Verina Seeth?" she called out loudly. "Any vol-"

"Over here!" A voice piped up from the eighteen-year-old section. "I volunteer!"

Several kids quickly moved out of the way, allowing a blonde-haired girl to step out. She had a slightly muscular build, with large eyes and a large nose. Alone, these features could easily be seen as ugly, but somehow, paired with her little half-smile and the way she held her head up high, she was absolutely beautiful.

Muscida looked very pleased. "My, my. Please, dear, come on up to the stage."

There were murmurs as she made her way up to the stage, everyone's eyes following her. Nobody noticed the small boy in the eighteen-year-old section, sitting in a wheelchair and shaking his head, his eyes on his feet.

"The Black Widow..."

"Wasn't she just finished with Lipp?"

"He fell off his balcony...or so she says."

"And Carth and Jude and Lokian..."

The mutterings didn't seem to bother her, or maybe she just tuned them out. Cetus stared, wide-eyed, as she passed him in the seventeen-year-old section. She really was volunteering.

_Just for fun. _

"What's your name, sweetie?" Muscida asked her.

"Curvier Galeocerdo," she announced, her voice silky smooth. She gave the cameras a dazzling smile, and you could already tell she was going to be a crowd favorite. "Get ready, because I'm going to be your Victor this year."

Curvier Galeocerdo. So that was her name. Cetus watched as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, whispering something to Muscida that made her laugh. Curvier Galeocerdo and Cetus Celaeno. They sounded good together, he decided. Almost a sort of rhyme.

"And now, moving on to your male tribute." Muscida stuck her hand into the boys' bowl, again snatching a slip from the top. "Lipp Teevan!"

Cetus couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. Thankfully, there was enough commotion that nobody heard him. Even Curvier's winning smile faltered a little. Lipp stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section, looking like he wanted to gut someone open. His hand in the sling was shaking.

Oh, the irony.

"Volunteers?" Muscida clapped her hands together for attention. "Do we have any volunteers?"

"I volunteer!" the words were flying out off Cetus' mouth before he even realized what he was doing.

He just couldn't take his eyes off of Curvier.

Muscida and Curvier both scanned the crowd, looking for the source of the shout. Their eyes both slid over him, and he had to wave his hand in the air before people would let him pass by to make his way out of his section. He wondered what his parents and siblings were thinking right now. That he had lost his mind, perhaps?

The smile Muscida gave him as he took the stage wasn't half as pleased as the smile she had given Curvier. "And what's your name, dear?"

"Cetus," he told her. "Cetus Celaeno."

Curvier scrutinized the boy, Cetus Celaeno. He was very plain, nondescript, easily forgettable. He had messy brown hair and simple brown eyes. His build was pretty muscular, but overall, he didn't look like a tip-top Career. She wondered why he had volunteered. He wasn't going to be able to help her win; that had been what she was hoping for.

But then again, it couldn't hurt to be on good terms with your District partner.

Cetus took Curvier's hand before Muscida could tell them to shake hands, and Curvier blinked for a second, startled, before she caught herself. She gave Cetus a bright, dazzling smile, and he looked surprised, but smiled in return.

As they were led away, Cetus noticed that Curvier had very dark brown eyes. So dark that they looked like a deep, bottomless black.


	7. District Five

**A/N: **Hello again, people of fanfiction. For those of you who were wondering last chapter(which was quite a few of you), here is the pronunciation of Curvier's name:

Curvier("koo-vy-air") Galeocerdo("Gal-ee-oh-sair-duh")

And for anyone who might wonder this chapter, Ateré is pronounced "at-er-ay".

_A special thank you to _bobothebear _for the District Five female, and _GoldenfeatherKyru _for the District Five male._

**Question of the Chapter: **Favorite tribute of Five?

~Ashes

* * *

**District Five**

* * *

**Ateré Narken, 12**

Just a smile, a nod, a slight widening of her large, innocent blue eyes.

That's all it took, always. That's just how easy it was. Oh, how Ateré loved it. Loved how they would smile back at her in that way of theirs, that way that said, _oh, you sweet little girl. _She would ask them questions, odd questions, questions about their personal life, following them around the District.

They were puzzled, they always were. Their eyebrows would pull together, and then they would look at her oddly, with confusion written clearly on their faces.

But she'd be looking at them, her eyes big, curiosity lighting them up. Clearly she was just curious, just wondering, just a sweet little girl who wanted to know a tad more about them.

It couldn't hurt to quench that curiosity, could it? Just answer one question? After all, she was just a little girl.

Just a little girl.

Ateré laughed lightly, suddenly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. A few people passing on the sidewalk gave her confused stares, and the owner of the bakery just across from where Ateré was standing looked up, his eyes startled.

One question would turn into two, to three, and then they'd be spilling their life story to her, the innocent little girl that lapped it all up with a bright little smile. It was easier with her classmates, with people her age, they were never aware of just what exactly they were saying.

One slip. That's all it took. And then the fun would begin.

Ateré crossed the street, skipping lightly, enjoying the growing look of discomfort on the baker's face as she advanced. It was a rather cold day, and not even Ateré's favorite red jacket could keep away the chill that seemed to seep into her bones.

A wave of much-appreciated warmth hit her in the face as she pulled open the bakery door, accompanied with the smell of fresh bread. The little chimes above the door tinkled, and from somewhere above her came the pattering of feet. Probably the baker's son, Stiv. He was in her class at school.

"Good morning, Mr. Bannock," Ateré said brightly, giving him a smile. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Mr. Bannock wiped his hands on his apron. Sweat was beading on his bald head. Ateré felt the corner of her mouth curve up. So he must know that Stiv had made a slip up yesterday. "And how are you, Ateré?"

"Oh, I'm great, Mr. Bannock." she made a face, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Although, I could be better. The reaping today, you know? And well, my family could certainly use some nice, fresh bread..."

Mr. Bannock looked relieved. Just bread, just bread. That's all she wanted. "Oh of course, my dear. How many loaves?"

Ateré leaned her elbows on the counter, widening her eyes ever so slightly. "But, oh, Mr. Bannock. I have no money."

Mr. Bannock froze mid-step. "Ateré, honey, I think you would need money to buy bread..."

"Yes, I know that." Ateré gave a tiny frown. "But boy did I hear something ever so interesting from Stiv at school yesterday. You've been sneaking around lately, haven't you Mr. Bannock?"

"No." his tone was firm, although his eyes were nervous. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, it must've been so easy," she mused, tapping her fingers lightly against the countertop. "Mrs. Bannock is always at work, isn't she? She works at the power plant all day, so she's never home. Wouldn't know that you're never home either, now would she?"

"Ateré..." Mr. Bannock's eyes darted towards the door, as if considering making a run for it.

"And what about last Friday?" she cocked her head to the side. "Mrs. Bannock was working late. Wasn't home until nearly midnight. You? You made it home just half an hour before she did, then promptly went to go take a shower. Stiv said you smelt of perfume."

Mr. Bannock shook his head, back and forth, swallowing loudly. "I-it was cologne."

Ateré gave him a sweet little smile and leaned forwards, lowering her voice, as if sharing a secret with him. "You've been seeing another woman, haven't you, Mr. Bannock? You have a miss—"

"Shut up!" he hissed, moving forward to cup his hand over Ateré's mouth. She darted backwards, avoiding him easily.

"I'm sure Mrs. Bannock would be just _so _interested to hear all of this," she said, raising an eyebrow. The baker's eyes were wild, on the door, and Ateré wondered if he was expecting his wife to walk through at any second.

"Of course," Ateré said, folding her hands, "it could all go away." She looked at him innocently. "Oh, if only I could have just a few loaves of bread..."

When Ateré arrived home fifteen minutes later, three loaves of bread tucked neatly under her arm, her mother had just gotten back from work and was opening the door. She worked at one of the power factories, and as a result, was still at work whenever Ateré and her little brother, Dion, got home from school. Her father was home even later, when dinner had been already set on the table.

However, today was a special occasion, and all the factory workers had been given night shifts instead, so they could enjoy celebrating the 99th Annual Hunger Games.

"Oh, hello honey," her mother said, giving Ateré a warm smile and a peck on the forehead as she walked up. "Where did you get the money to buy all that bread?"

"Mr. Bannock gave them to me."

Her mother looked surprised. "Didn't Mrs. Bannock just give you bread two days ago?"

Ateré bit back the urge to giggle. The night Mrs. Bannock had been working late, she had actually gone out to meet another man. Lianne, a girl at her school, had told Ateré that her father was going on a date with a red-haired woman, and Ateré had made the jump almost instantly. It really was all quite silly.

"Yes, I know," Ateré told her mother. "But he wouldn't take no for an answer. He absolutely _insisted._"

The woman laughed, giving Ateré a one-armed squeeze. "Well, of course he insisted. You're just the sweetest girl."

Ateré felt the familiar twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach at lying to her mother. She loved her mother; she loved her whole family, but if they found out where she was _really_ getting all this stuff, they'd never let her keep it up. It wasn't like they were insanely poor, but they still needed everything they could get.

"Mommy! Ateré!" Dion raced out of his room as soon as he heard the door open, throwing his arms around Ateré's legs. "You're home!"

Raechia—the babysitter—followed Dion out, giving Ateré and her mother a smile and a nod as she slipped by them and left. They had wanted to pay her when she first started, but she would have it. She had insisted that it was fine, that she didn't need any payment, she just couldn't stand the thought of the little boy staying home alone.

Or, at least, that's what her parents thought.

Ateré laughed, ruffling the little boy's hair. "Yeah Di, and look what I brought!"

His eyes widened at the sight of the bread. "Wow! Is that for my birthday?"

"Of course! We'll buy all sorts of jams after the reaping, and we can all have a feast to celebrate my little brother turning seven tomorrow. And maybe we'll even buy a cake!"

Dion clapped his hands together, his eyes shining. "Yay! Cake!"

Ateré watched her brother run excitedly around the living room, and she couldn't help a smile. She had a little blue toy truck for him tomorrow; she couldn't wait to see how excited he'd be then.

Her brother would have the best seventh birthday ever, she decided.

* * *

**Sho Yoshiri, 16**

It really had been a pretty bracelet, all gold and silver. There had been stones embedded in it too, although Sho couldn't be sure whether they were real diamond. Although, judging from the quality of the rest of the bracelet, they probably were.

It was no wonder that man had wanted it. It would have been all too easy to keep it, to steal it away inside his pocket, to sell it on the Black Market the next morning. Then poof, gone, as if he'd never had it in the first place.

But Sho wasn't that type of person. He had faithfully completed the job, giving the bracelet to his client, although why the man had wanted it in the first place was a mystery.

Now a wad of bills sat comfortingly in his pocket. He wasn't sure if it was more or less than he would have gotten for selling the bracelet, but that didn't matter, anyway. The reason why so many people hired Sho in the first place was because he was reliable; loyal. He always got a job done, whether it was theft, or blackmail, or even murder. He charged a lot more for murder, though, so it was a rare occurrence.

Sho jumped, slightly alarmed as a raven took off from beside him in a rustle of dark wings. He wasn't sure just how late it was, but judging from the absence of lights in the windows of the nearby homes, he guessed it was probably after midnight.

It really would be a good idea to go to sleep, after all, he would be forced to get up for the reaping tomorrow, but Sho just couldn't manage it.

A figure passed by below, and Sho moved forward, curious, peeking out from the roof he was perched on. The figure was walking briskly and purposefully, but Sho couldn't tell if it was a woman or a man; just that they were dressed in a dark trench coat.

He ran along the roof, following the figure, simply just for the fun of it. He was sure that if there was anyone around, they would balk at him—after all, he was up pretty high above the ground, and a fall would guarantee a broken bone or two.

Sho watched curiously as the figure hurried toward the main street, and just before they broke out of the alley, he swung down from the roof, grabbing onto a piece of the siding, and landed neatly in front of the person, who he could now see was a woman.

The woman jumped back, startled, and her face flashed beneath her hair. No, not a woman. A girl.

"You lost?" he asked her, amused, even though she obviously wasn't.

"No," she stated, looking up.

He blinked at her. "Veil?"

The girl paused for a moment, then squinted at him. "Sho? Is that you?"

His mouth quirked up into a smile. "Yeah, it's me. What are you doing out so late?"

Veil let out a sigh of relief. "God, Sho, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were a murderer or something." she glanced around, as if checking to see if they were alone. They were, but she lowered her voice anyway. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

Her eyes were so pretty, a light amber color, and they flickered as the moonlight hit them. Sho found himself promising not to tell anyone.

"I snuck out to go see Orland," she said.

Instantly, a wave of jealousy washed over Sho. He was absolutely in love with Veil, not that she'd know it. "Oh. I see."

"Yeah." she glanced at him. "Why are _you _out so late?"

He shrugged. "I'm always out late."

"Oh." she kept her gaze on him for another second. "Well, I'd better get going."

"Yeah. See you around."

Sho watched her hurry off, pulling up the collar of her trench coat. Her blonde hair shimmered silver for just a second as it caught the moonlight, and Sho sighed before turning away.

_Sho._

_Sho! _

"SHO!"

Sho groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. "Go away, Tess."

"Sho." she shook him. "Seriously, you need to get up. The reaping's in, like, twenty minutes, and your hair looks like it was attacked by a horde of crows."

"I'm not going to the reaping," he grumbled, throwing a pillow at her. "Let me sleep."

"Fine, you asked for it. Jul!"

Sho was already unconscious again, and before he could even register what was going on, ice-cold water was splashing onto his face. He jumped up immediately, swearing and sputtering. His sisters laughed, their almond-shaped eyes twinkling. Tess and Jul were a year apart, thirteen and fourteen, but they were inseparable. It might have been because they were of Asian descent, but they practically looked like twins, with the same black hair and dark brown eyes.

"Guys," he complained good-naturedly. Sho could never stay mad at his younger sisters, even though he was in a horrible mood, as he always was when he woke up in the mornings after going to bed at night. He usually went to bed at three in the afternoon, and woke up sometime after eight o'clock at night.

"Sho," his mother Lyra scolded, coming into the room. "I told you to actually go to bed at a decent time last night. You have ten minutes before we have to leave."

"Sorry Ma," he said, then took the wad of bills on his nightstand and tossed them to her. Lyra's eyes tightened automatically, but she didn't say anything. She was well aware of just what exactly Sho was always out doing, but they'd had the argument many times before, and if she forbade him from it, he'd just move out, do the jobs anyway, and send the money back to his family.

He was the one who supported his family, after all. Lyra had a job that paid barely anything, drying paper, and they desperately needed the money he made. She gave him a half-smile, her way of saying thank you, and backed out of the room.

"You'd better start getting ready, Sho," Jul said, grinning, giving him a playful punch. "Tess is right, your hair's pretty crazy right now."

Sho yawned. "Yeah, yeah. Run along, you two. It's not like you guys are exactly hair-perfect, either."

He was referring to Tess' messy bun. She stuck her tongue out at him, and the two of them left. Sho heard their footsteps heading down the stairs.

In truth, Sho was worried about them. He had insisted they take no tesserae, but they wouldn't hear of it. They went and took some behind his back, and now they had far too many slips for their age. The odds were most definitely not in their favor.

Sho desperately hoped that it wouldn't be Tess or Jul's name that was called out this year.

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Happy Hunger Games!" Ovid Combe boomed out, spreading his hands wide. He had an awfully deep voice for such a small man. He was dressed completely in blue, and had an Asian look to him, although that probably came from cosmetic surgery.

"Happy Hunger Games," the crowd murmured back. Cheers burst out of the speakers.

"Are we all excited?"

More fake cheering.

"Lovely!" Ovid smiled widely, revealing blue teeth embedded with diamonds. He pointed dramatically to the screen behind him, and the Dark Days video started to play. In truth, more people watched Ovid than the video. He was mouthing the words, and every once in a while his blue teeth would change color into pink, then back again.

"May we please have honorable Mayor Hethgrove read the past list of Victors?" Ovid asked as the video closed. Mayor Hethgrove took the stage, his long brown hair brushed back into a neat ponytail.

Vidia Keene, this year's Mentor, stood back, her sharp blue eyes darting back and forth. She wasn't supposed to be Mentoring, it was supposed to be the latest Victor, Jamison Willis. He had been completely lost it though, and had committed suicide just a week before. Now it was Vidia's job.

Hardly anybody even remembered seeing Vidia in her Games—the 86th—she had been so off the grid. She had been a loner, keeping to herself, and everyone had been startled when the last two Careers had completely worn each other down in the final battle, and she had killed them both with just a sweep of her knife.

Ovid walked over to the girls' bowl and stuck his hand in, producing a single slip. He unfolded it and squinted a bit.

"Ater—" he paused. "How do you pronounce the accent?" he stage-whispered to Vidia. She mumbled something unintelligible, and Ovid nodded happily.

"Ateré Narken!" he called out.

There was a moment's pause and Ateré felt a vivid jolt of fear run through her, fear that was quickly replaced by horror. Her brother's birthday. Her brother's birthday was _tomorrow. _How could Dion be losing his sister on his _birthday?_

"Shit," she muttered.

A few people turned to glance at her, and she hurried to rearrange her face as she stepped out.

The girl that came out of the twelve-year-old section was rather small, simple looking. She had plain brown hair, and big, innocent-looking blue eyes. She looked confused and scared out of her mind. The crowd murmured unhappily. They never liked it when a twelve-year-old was chosen, especially not one that was so frail.

"Ateré!" a little boy shouted from somewhere at the back, and everyone winced. A woman's soft sobs accompanied Ateré as she took to the stage. She managed to give a shy little smile to the cameras even though fear was evident in her eyes, and you could practically hear hear the _aww _coming from all the Capitol citizens.

Nobody knew that she had already resolved to kill whoever she needed to in order to make it home.

"Fabulous!" Ovid shot her a smile, his teeth now pink. He crossed over to the boys' bowl, and plucked a slip that was half hanging off the side.

"Sho Yoshiri!"

The name echoed out across the square.

"Please let there be another Sho Yoshiri out there," someone said from the sixteen-year-old section.

The crowd parted around the boy. "I didn't think so," he muttered.

The boy was short for his age, but had some muscle. With his black hair and dark eyes, he looked as if he was from Asian descent, and not the fake kind of Asian that Ovid sported.

Sho let out a long string of profanities, clearly not in the best mood. Ovid blinked at him as he took to the stage.

"Well, um, that's some very colorful language you've got there," Ovid managed, smiling tightly. His teeth were blue again.

Sho didn't answer. His eyes were darting from Tess to Jul then back again. Tess was biting down hard on her bottom lip, which Sho knew meant she was about to cry. Jul was staring straight ahead, unblinking.

He didn't even want to look at his mother. First his father, and now him. He couldn't imagine the devastation that she was feeling right now. How were they going to eat? How were they going to get by?

"Ateré Narken and Sho Yoshiri, everyone!" Ovid boomed. "Two amazing tributes, who are sure to bring glory to District Five!"

Applause erupted out of the speakers, and as the two of them shook hands, Sho couldn't help but feel disconcerted. Ateré was so small, and the innocence on her face somehow reminded him of his sisters. Her blue eyes were wide, probably frightened. Sho felt like he needed to protect her, to shield her from the horror that was the Games.

_No, _he thought firmly as they were led away. _I need to survive. I have a family to feed._


	8. District Six

**A/N: **Yay! We're officially halfway through the reapings! *Insert applause here*...no?...okay...

And also, the photos are officially up! From Phaedra to Sage to the Escorts and Mentors and tributes! The orders and stuff are a bit messed up, but I tried. Really, I did. If they still don't work, I swear, I'm going to run myself into a wall. Here's the link, no spaces, replace the dot com and forward slash with the actual things:

s 901. photo bucket dot com forward-slash user / xAshesx x /library/ ?sort=3 & page=1

**Question of the Chapter:** Favorite tribute of Six? And, a follow-up question, since we're officially halfway through- who is your favorite tribute out of the first six districts? And a second follow-up question... how are the photos? Do they match how you've imagined the tributes in your head?

_A special thank-you to _Coffee221bTARDISDemigodWonders _for the District Six female, and _TheTypeWriter001 _for the District Six male._

~Ashes

* * *

**District Six**

* * *

**Andromada "Romie" Nightingale, 13**

Romie peered over her best friend's shoulder, eager to get a look at her new book. "Wow, Melody! That's the last book, right? The end?"

Melody grinned, looking proud. "Yep. I just finished it!"

"No way!" Rose cut in, snatching the book from her. "I've been saving up to buy this book forever! What happens? Does she save her brother?"

"Rose-Louise Waters!" Romie crossed her arms, giving Rose a mock-stern glance. It was hard, considering Rose was a whole head taller than her. "Are you asking Melody to spoil the book for you?"

"What's our number one rule?" Melody asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No spoilers. Ever," Rose muttered.

"Goodbye girls," Mr. Tomlinson said, giving them a kind smile as they left the school. "May the odds be in your favor tonight."

"Thanks, Persius!" Romie gave him an enthusiastic wave. She and her teacher were good friends, and she called him by his first name sometimes. "You too! Erm, I mean, not in _your _favor, but like, in your son's favor..."

"Teacher's pet," Ceba said under her breath as she passed, and Romie threw her a withering glance. Romie could never understand why wanting to do good in school was such a crime.

"Don't pay any attention to her," Melody said, shaking her head.

"She's just jealous that we're so smart." Rose poked a finger at Romie's forehead, and she laughed.

"Besides," Melody said, her eyes twinkling. "Does Ceba get to borrow my book? Nope. For you and you only, Romie."

"Hey!" Rose protested. "What about me?"

"Okay, maybe for you too, Rose," Melody added.

"I dibs it first!" Rose said immediately.

"No dibsing," Melody said. "Rock paper scissors, you two."

Rose pursed her lips, but complied. Her face fell when she threw a rock, and Romie threw a paper.

"Best two out of three," she said.

And so it was best two out of three, but Rose lost anyway.

"Best four out of five!"

"Seriously, Rose," Romie laughed. "I think I won. I'll read as fast as I can, I swear. I can't read before the reaping, because I have to get ready and all, but I'll read it all night tonight, and I'll give it to you first thing tomorrow morning, okay?"

Rose sighed. "Okay, okay. Don't forget!"

They were at Romie's house now, a tiny little thing, the sidings falling apart. Rose and Melody said their goodbyes and walked off down the street. Both of them lived in the wealthier part of the District, and sometimes Romie felt like she didn't fit in with Rose and Melody, with their casual buying of books and school supplies.

"I'm home!" Romie called out as she opened the door, hanging up her coat and school bag. It was an unusually warm day, especially compared to the ice-cold chill of yesterday, and Romie was sweating.

"Where have you been?" Pandora poked a head out from her bedroom. "It's the reaping today, you know. You were supposed to be home half an hour ago."

"I stayed to work on an extra-credit assignment," Romie said.

Pandora came down the stairs, frowning, and Romie felt a slight twinge of jealousy. Her older sister was so _pretty. _Romie wished she could be that pretty. Pandora had the same dark skin as Romie, but while Romie's hair was curly and frizzy, Pandora's was long and silky, and while Romie had plain brown eyes, Pandora's were the color of warm, melted chocolate.

"You don't really need extra-credit, Romie," Pandora sighed. "For the millionth time, it would do you some good to maybe play some sports or something, get into extracurricular activities."

"You're not my mom," she muttered.

"No, but _I _am." Romie looked up as Cali walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "And I told you to be home at four, young lady."

"That's ridiculous," Romie said. "I had to do my extra-curricular project."

"Yes, we know that, but today's the reaping!" Cali hung up her apron. "You need some time to get ready, and now we barely have half an hour."

"That's plenty of time! And we're wasting it all away arguing!"

"Romie-"

"Hey, hey, give her a break." Her dad's voice rumbled into the room, deep and throaty, and a wide smile spread over Romie's face as Paris came down the stairs.

"Dad!" Romie ran to him, and he took her in a hug, swinging her around.

"Uff," he grunted, setting her back down. "You're getting heavy, Romie. My little girl, thirteen already! Next thing I know, you'll be getting married!"

Romie gave him a friendly punch. "Not quite yet, Dad. Maybe another ten years or so."

He smiled at her. "Ten years'll pass by in the blink of an eye, Romie." He lowered his voice. "Are you nervous for the reaping?"

She bit her lip. "Just a little bit. Maybe I shouldn't have taken tesserae-"

Paris' smile faltered. "You took tesserae?"

"Just a little," Romie said quickly. "I took ten. Pandora took twenty."

Romie felt a stab of discomfort in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't really thought hard about the reaping, but now she was scared. Ten- that was eleven slips with her name on it in that bowl.

And twenty. Plus five, because Pandora was sixteen. Twenty-five was a lot of slips. A whole lot.

What if Pandora got reaped?

She couldn't imagine watching those horrible, horrible Hunger Games with her sister in them. Pandora could be annoying, sure, but Romie loved her. Pandora wouldn't stand a chance against those huge tributes from One and Two, and Four.

Well, maybe not the ones from One this year. They had been young, Romie's age, and not imposing at all. The little girl had been so cute, with her big brown eyes, and the blonde-haired boy looked like maybe he'd be kind.

The ones from Two though, made Romie shudder.

Paris' eyes were disapproving. "Romie, we told you guys not to take any tesserae."

She shook her head, but couldn't speak, because she was suddenly imagining standing there at the reaping, looking up at the stupid Escort dressed in that stupid Capitol way, and watching her open that slip very carefully, calling out Pandora's name.

Or even worse, _her _name.

"It's okay, Romie." As if he could read her mind, Paris pulled her into a hug, his arms familiar and comforting around her. "It won't be you."

* * *

**Kyren Quill, 18 **

"Can't get the blood off your shirt?" Larcia's mouth is half curved up in a smile.

Kyren grunted, scrubbing at his shirt. It was unfortunate. Usually things went pretty cleanly, but the guy last night just _had _to struggle, only succeeding in twisting himself deeper into the knife and getting blood all over Kyren's shirt.

"Bleach works well," Tuscan remarked from where he was sitting on the couch.

"Yeah, but that shirt's blue," Viscous pointed out. "It'll get ruined."

"Aw." Tuscan grinned. "The little girl's smart, isn't she?"

"Shut up, Tuscan." Viscous threw her magazine at him.

"Just trash it," Larcia said. "It's not like you don't have any other shirts."

Kyren shrugged. "True."

He scrunched the shirt up in a ball, tossing it neatly into the garbage bin across the room. Now, he was kind of glad he'd plunged his knife deep into the guy's stomach. Served him right for ruining a perfectly good shirt.

"Great, now the room smells like blood," Tuscan muttered.

"Don't mind him," Larcia said. She inhaled deeply. "I, for one, like it."

"Of course you do," Tuscan said, rolling his eyes.

That, in itself, was true. Larcia was about as crazy as they got. She had grown up in One, and it was no secret that she enjoyed her kills, relished them, even. Kyren, being her partner, knew that firsthand.

Of course, doing the job they did, you'd need a healthy dose of insanity. Kyren, well, maybe he enjoyed his kills too. Just a tiny bit, though, and mostly because it was, after all, his occupation. He certainly didn't torture people until they caved, like Larcia did.

"Is someone hurt?" Pecha-Kyren's grandmother- stuck her head into the room, frowning. "I heard something about blood."

"Oh, Kyren cut his thumb," Tuscan lied smoothly. "He got some blood on his shirt, that's all."

"Oh. Okay." Pecha blinked for a moment, then turned around slowly, dazed, as if she'd forgotten what they'd been talking about.

Pecha was like that now, ever since the death of Karelia, Kyren's sister. Pecha had raised the two of them practically on her own, since their parents were always busy with work and clients. She had no idea about the going-ons of Kyren and his friends.

Kyren missed Karelia sometimes, but it was just a danger of the job.

"It's the reaping today," Viscous piped up.

"Mm-hmm." Tuscan made a non-committal sound.

"Is anyone else nervous, or is that just me?"

"Just you," Larcia said offhandedly. Her mouth split into a grin. "Sometimes I'm tempted to volunteer. You know, scare them a bit. I'd like to see their faces when the District Six girl scores just as high as the Careers."

"Maybe even higher," Tuscan pointed out.

"Of course, nobody blames you for being nervous, Vis." Larcia ruffled the younger girl's hair. "You're only thirteen."

"Quit it." Viscous slapped Larcia's hand away, frowning. "I'm not a kid."

"You are in our books," Tuscan said, reaching over to ruffle her hair as well.

"Give her a break, guys." Kyren smacked Tuscan's hand.

Tuscan was about to say something, but he was interrupted by a sharp ring from Kyren's phone. He pulled it out, squinting at the screen.

"It's my dad," he said.

Immediately the whole room went silent.

"Put it on speaker," Larcia told him.

Kyren pressed the button, and the phone came to life, crackling with static.

"Dad?"

"Kyren?"

"Yeah, it's me."

There was a pause on the other end. "How'd the job last night go?"

"We took care of him," Larcia cut in.

"Good." A sigh from the other end. "He was bothering us. Stealing some of the morphine and keeping it for himself. I'm glad he's out of the way. Although, there's another job I've got for you two."

They waited for him to go on, and he cleared his throat loudly. "There's a peacekeeper...sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

Larcia smirked. "What's his name and address?"

relayed the information to them, and Kyren jotted it down on a piece of paper. Most peacekeepers had learned to leave them alone, but there was always the occasional one.

His dad sat on the very top of the drug business, and every good illegal business needed people to carry out the dirty work. They had the dealers handing out the morphine, the clients paying for the morphine, and Kyren and his 'friends' getting rid of the people who messed up the system. Citizens, peacekeepers, and all.

"We'll handle it tonight, after the reaping."

"Oh, yes, it's the reaping today, isn't it?" his dad sounded mildly interested. "You took no tesserae, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Good." there was the sound of shuffling papers from the other end of the line. "Well, I've got to go. I'm due to meet with a dealer in a second. Goodbye, Kyren."

"Bye, dad."

Kyren turned off his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. His father barely ever called him, not even on his birthdays. Not that it bothered Kyren much. He couldn't imagine having one of those fathers who were always there, keeping an eye on him at home and sitting there at dinner. It would be weird. Awkward.

"Another job, huh?" Tuscan slapped Kyren on the back, grinning. "Stab him nice and quick this time. Don't get any blood on your shirt."

Kyren chuckled. "I won't. I'll chop his head clean off."

"Hey now," Larcia interrupted. "Not if I chop his head off first."

"He only has one head, guys," Viscous said, laughing. "I guess it's whoever gets to him first."

"How about a little friendly competition?" Larcia held out her hand. "May the best man win."

_"_Or woman," Tuscan corrected.

Kyren shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face. It was a weird friendship they had, him and Larcia. A friendship built on killing with one another, on bits of healthy competition and washing the blood off shirts and knives.

"Sure," he said, taking her hand firmly in his.

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Hello, District Six!" Saffra Whishart waved energetically, a bright smile splitting her face. She was dressed almost like a clown, in a pink and yellow shirt with big frills and black buttons. All that was missing was a red nose.

"Hello, Saffra," the crowd murmured.

"Can we get some applause for the 99th Annual Hunger Games?" the ruby embedded in her cheekbone glittered as she turned to the crowd, holding her arms out wide.

Scattered applause came from the audience, but it was easily amended by the loud whoops and hollers coming out of the speakers.

"District Two's gonna win this year!" a guy's voice shouted from the speakers, and then they were abruptly silenced. Saffra was blushing a deep shade of scarlet, and she was glaring at the speakers, as if it was their fault that they had malfunctioned.

"District Six's gonna win this year!" Veo Roxen, the Mentor, taunted. He was smiling widely, and he stumbled to the front of the stage, wrapping an arm around Saffra. "Am I right, Saffra?"

"Totally!" Saffra's voice was cheery, but obviously forced. She shoved Veo away from her. His eyes were cloudy, far away, and he was obviously high. Nobody could blame him, though. There was a reason that his Games-the 85th-was one of the most beloved among the Capitol.

It had been bloody, brutal, dramatic, everything they wanted. Veo had been muscular, strong, with a physique that rivaled the Careers'. He'd volunteered when his little sister had gotten reaped, and his only goal had been to keep her alive. He'd succeeded, but when it had been just the two of them, she had committed suicide, leaving Veo to win.

It had been pretty hard on him, and he'd pretty much been constantly high ever since.

The video of the Dark Days played, followed by the mayor's speech, and then Saffra flitted over to the girls' bowl.

"Ladies first!" she grinned at the crowd, rubbing her hands together, and then waving her fingers over the bowl.

She finally decided on a slip, unfolding it slowly, clearing her throat.

"Androme- sorry, Andro- uh..." she squinted at the paper. "Andromada Nightingale!"

For a moment, nothing happened, and Saffra looked confused. Then, a muttering rose out of the thirteen-year-old section, and someone shoved a small girl out. The girl stumbled, then caught herself. She was dark-skinned, with frizzy brown hair and large brown eyes that were wide; terrified.

As the crowd watched, she started to sob. It was obvious that she was trying to hold them back, but they raked themselves out of her, and tears spilled down her face.

"Romie!" a man rushed forwards, toward her, but two peacekeepers held him back. "No! She can't go! She's only thirteen! No!"

A woman grabbed him, pulled him back. She was sobbing too, biting her lip hard to keep back the tears. In the sixteen-year-old section, a girl with long, satiny brown hair was crying.

Romie managed to somehow make her way up to the stage, staring straight ahead, swiping the tears away with the back of her hand. Unhappy murmurs came from the crowd.

"My, my!" Saffra was smiling, ignoring Veo, who had covered his face with his hands, probably remembering his little sister's reaping. "How exciting this is!"

She proceeded to pick a slip out of the boys' bowl, then pressed her mouth to the microphone.

"Now our male tribute who will be accompanying this lovely young woman into the Games... Kyren Quill!"

Almost as soon as his name was called, a big, well-built boy stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section. He had jet black hair and dark eyes, and his mouth was pulled down into a scowl. He seemed a little shocked, but it quickly disappeared, and he looked impassive as he made his way onto the stage.

He was stopped by a girl in the eighteen-year-old section who tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. His mouth curved up into half a smile.

When he stepped up onto the stage, a loud whoop sounded from the seventeen-year-old section.

"Yeah, Kyren!" Tuscan shouted, grinning. He swiped a finger over his throat, mouthing, _kill them all. _

"Oh, how lovely!" Saffra turned to Kyren. "Looks like you'll have some supporters back at home!"

She was clearly waiting for Kyren to say something, but he made no comment, and she looked a tad bit uncomfortable.

"Alright, shake hands, you two!" Saffra returned her eyes to the audience. "Get ready for a victor this year, District Six!"

The cheers were not very impressive, but the speakers didn't come back on again, probably for fear of another slip-up. The person who manned them was already probably going to be executed.

Romie and Kyren shook hands, one big and calloused, the other small and soft. As they were led away, Romie searched for some hint of friendliness in the older boy's eyes, but she found nothing.


	9. District Seven

**A/N: **Okay, I know, I know. I'm sorry for taking so long to update, but I've been buried under a massive pile of homework. I've dug my way out of it, though, so all's good. ;)

The Seven tributes are really quite interesting - exact opposites, in a way. You'll see what I mean.

**Question of the Chapter: **Do I really have to keep writing it?

_A special thank-you to _seventhquill907 _for the District Seven Female, and _ForeverYoung362 _for the District Seven Male._

~Ashes

* * *

**District Seven**

* * *

**McCallister "Cal" Dunnelow, 18**

The massive fir tree trembled and then fell, and Cal jumped out of the way as it smashed into the ground.

It was over four times taller than Cal was, thick and majestic, its branches full and green. It was riddled through with holes, from insects and what-not, but it was a survivor, like Cal was.

Well, not anymore.

"Watch it, Texcana!" she yelled at the boy who had cut down the tree. "You almost flattened me, for God's sake."

"Sorry, Cal." he reached up to run a sheepish hand through his hair, but then seemed to remember that it was nearly all shaved off. He dropped his hand back to his side, letting it hang.

He was the newest addition to her foster family, or the newest inmate, as Cal liked to call them. Texcana's parents had killed a peacekeeper, and he'd tried to make a run for it, but they caught him, and dropped him here. Being new, he wasn't quite used to the way things worked around here, and the Witch and the Pig - or, their foster parents - still hadn't taken their toll on his cheery disposition yet.

She sighed, then turned away from him, puckering her lips in frustration. The badger family that had made its home in the abandoned cabin seemed to be gone now, frightened away by the noise. She was part relieved and part annoyed.

Relieved, because she didn't have to kill a bunch of little badger babies, and annoyed because, well, it was her job after all. Getting rid of the animals that had made their homes in abandoned structures, so that the others could tear it down and make use of the lumber.

Also, she had to admit, she enjoyed the feel of her Blowgun, the power it made her feel when she shot it into the hides of huge grizzly bears and watched them topple over.

"Everything's cleared out," Gally said. She stepped out of the cabin, nodding at Cal. "I think we can tear it down now."

"That'll be great, as long as Mr. Axe-happy here doesn't go and crush all the good wood under a bunch of dead trees," Cal said, shooting a glance at Texcana.

"Hey," he protested. "It was just one tree. Besides, I don't think the cabin's wood is salvageable, anyway. It's kind of falling apart. We might have to burn it."

Gally stiffened, and Cal gave Texcana a full-on glare. "Watch your mouth, you insensitive bastard."

"It's okay," Gally said quietly.

"Yeah, you can suck it up, Gally." she gave her friend a smile. "You're tough."

Gally's parents had been killed a few years back, in a forest fire that had started in the area where they were chopping down trees. She's always been afraid of fire because of it, and could never stand to watch when they set fire to useless structures to make way for new ones.

"You're more of an insensitive bastard than I am, Cal." Texcana winked at her. "At least I don't go around calling other people insensitive bastards."

"Oh, shut your mouth," she said, grabbing a rock off the ground and tossing it at him.

Texcana stepped aside easily, then held his hands up in mock-surrender, a smile playing over his lips. "You may be tough, Cal, but we both know you're one big softie inside."

Cal rolled her eyes, chucking another stone, this time with more force. "You'd better shut that mouth of yours, Texcana, or I swear, I'm going to -"

"Get back to work!" their foster dad, otherwise known as the Pig, scowled at them, his thick, droopy eyelids making him look like he was half asleep. "This is a business, not social hour!"

Cal wished she could shove that smug look of his up his ass, but that would probably end up with her in prison. Not that prison would be much worse than this, this slaving away and then giving all the money to their 'loving' parents.

"This is a business, not social hour," Cal mimicked, turning away from the Pig. She saw Gally's lips pull up in a smile, and she smiled as well.

She wished that Swailler was watching over them, like he usually was. Swailler didn't care what they did, as long as they got the job done, so that their 'parents' wouldn't be screaming and yelling at them afterward. Swailler slipped them food sometimes, and even occasionally even joined in on their bantering.

He was gone though, and would be for a whole month. He was in Nine, visiting his wife and daughter. Cal knew she should be happy for him, happy that he was getting some time off to live his life and visit his family, but she missed the man.

Somewhere behind them, another tree shuddered and fell, and Cal knew that Texcana must be making use of the white fir trees. They weren't quite as common to find as the maples and pines that dotted the forests of Seven, and they made fairly good money. Not that they would get any of that money, of course.

"McCallister!" the Pig shouted at her. "Get your head out of the clouds! I don't know what the hell you're doing, but it ain't work, so get back to it!"

Cal had a sudden urge to whip around and shoot the Pig in the face with her blowgun; see how he could yell at her then. It would be incredibly satisfying to watch him sway on his feet, then timber like the trees that Texcana cut down.

She resisted it, though, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, reminding herself that she couldn't get tossed into jail; not now. Not when the reaping was so close.

Cal was tired. Sick and tired of this life, this being a slave, with no home and no family to call her own. They would never let her go, she was already of legal age to live on her own, but they had good connections, and the peacekeepers couldn't care less about some orphan girl's rights.

If there was one thing that Cal was sure of, it was that she'd rather _die _than live her life like this, constantly under someone's thumb. She would do practically anything to get out, for even a sliver of the chance to be free. Even if all the odds were stacked up against her.

And, well, that's exactly what the Hunger Games was.

* * *

**Leif Squires, 16**

"Hey, Leif, congrats!" Muse thumped him on the back, a wide grin stretching across his face. "I heard that Emira asked you to the dance, man! _Emira!"_

Johce, one of Muse's friends, wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "You know what that means, dude."

"You're going to get some!" they both chorused, then broke off into loud laughter.

Emira was the school's Queen Bee, with her perfect golden blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. It was no surprise that she had asked Leif out. Everyone had been expecting it. After all, Leif was the most popular guy at their school. Almost every single guy in the school was in love with Emira, partly because she was rumored to be a complete and total slut.

Of course, going to the dance with her required dumping Leif's current girlfriend, Alyth. Of course, that was not a problem to Leif. He had been planning to dump her anyway. She wasn't good enough for him, too shy, too quiet. Her looks were nothing compared to his, and they had looked like two extremes next to each other.

To be honest, Leif had only gone out with her because of a bet with Radical. He had promised Leif fifty bucks if he could get into Alyth's pants. Which, of course, Leif had succeeded in.

He bumped his own fist to Muse's outstretched one, and Muse gave him another thump on the back before making his way down the hallway.

"Hey, Leif," Emira said as her and her crowd of girls passed by.

"Hey, Emira." he felt his face fall into its familiar charming smile. "Hey, ladies."

He winked at them, and they practically fell over themselves, giggling and twirling their hair.

Pathetic.

That was the word. Everyone; everyone in this school. It was so easy to fool them, with a few charming smiles and smooth words. They were just like his older brother.

Why had Venith ever thought that joining a gang was a good idea? Just a few white lies and bright, welcoming smiles, and Venith had walked himself to his grave. He thought that he was doing his family a favor, doing Leif a favor, protecting them.

Leif had to close his eyes to keep from punching something; someone. He had been so young then, just four, but he remembered it all clearly, like it had been branded into his mind. The circle of dark shapes and moving bodies, with the occasional flash of knives, closing in on Venith, his face white and pale and terrified.

He couldn't see anything after that, but he remembered the screams. Leif had never heard his brother scream before then, and the sound had chilled him to the bone.

Of course, Leif had to avenge his brother. If that meant missing his brother's funeral, training secretly in the woods while everyone else was grieving, then so be it.

It was two years ago that he had finally managed to do it - kill them all. Their screams had been oddly satisfying, like they were feeling his brother's pain. Leif hadn't even felt guilty afterwards, just a cold sort of emptiness. He didn't feel guilty watching Perilla's execution either, watching the death of the gang leader's sister, the one that he had framed for the murders.

They were all gone now, had been for two years, but Leif didn't feel any happier than he had when they were still alive. Vernith was still dead. It hadn't changed anything, after all.

"Leif! My man!"

Leif opened his eyes, and there was Radical and Kai, grinning broadly at him. "Hooking up with Emira, now are we?"

Leif grinned back. "You know it."

"Man." Radical whistled. "Always knew you'd do it."

"You still owe me that fifty bucks though, Radical."

Radical snorted. "Aw, come on, man. The glory should be enough."

Leif shook his head, giving Radical a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Nuh-uh, Radical. A guy needs his money."

"Okay, okay," he relented. "After the reaping."

"After the reaping," Leif agreed.

"Leif!" Leif looked up. Some guy he didn't recognize gave him a thumbs-up, then continued down the hallway.

"Thanks! I appreciate it!" Leif hollered to him, and the guy turned around, clearly happy with being acknowledged by Leif Spires.

Leif shook his head. Like he said, pathetic.

"What if you get reaped, Leif?" Kai asked, falling into step beside him.

Leif snorted. "Yeah, as if. Never really thought about it, though. I've only got, like, four slips in there. I didn't take any tesserae or anything."

"Great job, man!" A blonde-haired guy winked at Leif as he passed. "Have fun with Emira."

"God, does _everyone _know?" Radical asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Word travels fast, I guess," Kai said. "As I was saying, though - if any of us were reaped, do you think we'd stand a chance?"

Radical snorted. "Are you kidding, Kai? Leif would obliterate them all."

"But Leif hasn't had any training," Kai pointed out. "And what about the Careers?"

"It doesn't matter," Radical said dismissively. "Leif would still dominate. Right, Leif?"

What a suck-up.

"Of course," Leif said.

* * *

**Reaping**

* * *

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" Dixie Malone waved to the crowd, her long, purple fingernails shining in the sunlight. "And welcome to the ninety-nineth annual Hunger Games!"

The applause came in bits and pieces, but oddly, no cheering blasted from the speakers. Maybe they hadn't found someone new to man the speakers yet, after the last person was executed for the incident in Six.

"Let's have Mayor Leto come up to read the list of past victors!" Dixie shuffled off to the side, her bright smile still on her face all the while. Her blue wig was slightly askew, and her blue lipstick wasn't applied on completely right. The white lines that took the place of her eyebrows appeared to have been scrawled on.

Dixie wasn't the most put-together escort. There was no doubt that she had probably forgotten about the reaping until ten minutes before the event.

Mayor Leto took the stage, clearing his throat as he started to read. Behind him, Wade Erwin - the mentor - crossed his arms, his biceps rippling. Wade had won the eighty-nineth Hunger Games pretty much by pure, brute strength, and destroying everything in his path, with those muscles of his that had been built so well by chopping trees.

When the Dark Days video ended, Dixie returned to the stage, then stood over the girls' bowl, rubbing her hands together.

"And our lucky tribute this year is..." she produced a single slip, then held it over her head as she read it, as if she was praising a god.

"Polline Cameth!"

The crowd was silent for a moment, and then a piercing wail cut through the quiet so sharply that everyone jumped.

"Polline! No!" A little girl barreled out of the roped-off section, for the parents and siblings who weren't of reaping age. The peacekeepers were so startled that she ran right by them, crying hysterically.

A peacekeeper hurridely snatched her up before she could arrive at her destination, and she screeched, beating her little fists against his back. She couldn't have been older than seven, her blond hair askew out of her braid and her brown eyes bright with tears.

"Polline-" she gulped out.

A girl stepped out of the fifteen-year-old section, her eyes straight ahead. Her lower lip was quivering, as if she was about to burst into tears. She looked quite alike the younger girl, with the same blond hair and almond-shaped eyes.

Before Polline could take a step forward, though, a voice called out, "I volunteer!"

The crowd murmured, and Dixie blinked, as if she wasn't quite sure what was going on. Polline stopped mid-step, looking bewildered and slightly confused. She must've already resigned herself to her fate.

"I volunteer," the voice said again, calmly, loudly. The eighteen-year-old section parted around a girl with brown hair and hazel eyes. She was quite tall, and well-built, with wiry muscles in her arms.

From behind Dixie, Wade grunted approvingly. Dixie stared at the girl for a moment, then stammered out, "Uh, great! A volunteer!"

She glanced at Wade for help.

"Come on up, girl! Tell us your name," he said, and Dixie looked relieved.

The girl took to the stage, staring out at the crowd, with almost a hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm McCallister Dunnelow."

Cal could see the furious faces of her foster parents standing at the back, and that pleased her emmensely. Texcana and Gally would probably have to bear the consequences of her volunteering, and she felt somewhat guilty about that.

But this was her chance, her only chance. And she was going to take it.

"Lovely!" Dixie seemed to have pulled herself together. This was the first time anyone had volunteered in her entire career as escort, and she looked pleased at the excitement. "Is Polline your friend, McCallister?"

"No."

"Oh." Dixie blinked awkwardly. "Okay."

She headed over to the boys' bowl before things could get even more awkward, and quickly pulled out a name to break the tense atmosphere.

"Leif Squires!"

_Oh God._

That was Leif's first thought. He felt shock rip through him, followed quickly by terror. He wanted to make a run for it. He really, really did.

But everyone was already turning around to look at him, and he hurried to bottle up the fear, keep it inside. When he stepped out of the sixteen-year-old section, he looked smug, a crooked smile decorating his face.

The crowd saw a confident-looking boy, with tan skin, and brown hair and brown eyes. He was very handsome, and almost, in a sense, too perfect.

"Well, this sucks." Leif sighed dramatically. "I was going to volunteer anyway, you know. And now it's so much less exciting." he shot a glance at Cal. "And she gets all the glory."

He turned to one of the cameras, and winked. "Don't worry, though. I'm going to be your victor."

The Capitol audience was probably already lapping it up, a bunch of silly women already swooning and 'falling in love'. Even Dixie looked flustered, her cheeks turning pink beneath her blue blush.

"Leif Squires and McCallister Dunnelow, everyone!" she grinned. "What amazing tributes! I think we're going to have a victor this year!"

They turned to shake hands, and Leif couldn't help but notice that Cal was staring at him, hard, as if trying to rip him open and read his soul. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious.

Leif gave her a charming smile, and she blinked, surprised, before they were led away.


End file.
